The Last Wish
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: What if Miaka's last wish were different? To save the seishi, Miaka wishes for them to have always existed in the real world, but will it be enough? Can she change their fates? [FINISHED!]
1. I: The Last Wish. A Seishi Calls.

DISCLAIMER: None of it's mine, la la la...wish it was. *grumbles*  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: As will rapidly become apparent, this is an AU fic. The general concept is, what if Miaka's last wish to Suzaku had been different? More to come soon! :)  
  
  
"The Last Wish"  
by Ryuen  
  
---  
  
  
The words of her companions faded around her, left her standing alone and warm in the fiery depths of Suzaku's power. "Suzaku," she said, her voice strong and determined in the sudden silence. "Make it so the book never existed at all...so the other world never existed...but...but, make it so everyone who lived there existed in the real world, instead! Make it so they all exist here, now, with me!" Her eyes grew wide, frantic, and she raised her arms in pleading. "Onegai, Suzaku! Make them real!"  
  
Suzaku inclined his head a fraction of an inch, and then everything was consumed in a bright flash of pure, holy crimson light.   
  
~ ~ ~  
  
  
"Miaka! MIAAAAAKAAAAAA!"  
  
It was a long moment before the voice registered in her ears. "Oniichan?" she asked the darkness, sitting up straight in the bed. She was bathed in a cool, icy sweat, shaking with reaction from the sudden plunge into wakefulness. Abruptly, however, the memories surged back into her conscious mind, made her eyes widen and the breath stick in her lungs. What had...where had... She shook her head, glanced around in confusion...Nakago...and...and Tamahome...everyone... Ack, her last wish!! Had...had it worked?? Shaking, Miaka disentangled herself from the blankets and leaped from her bed, ran to the door so quickly that she nearly tripped over a large blue stuffed animal she'd left lying on the floor, went tumbling into the side of her dresser.   
  
"Miaka! Come on, I'm tired!"  
  
Oniichan. What...  
  
She heard a low groan from downstairs. "Miaaaaaaaaka!"  
  
"Coming!" she called back, tugging open the door with one hand and stepping hurriedly out into the hallway. A moment later, she'd bounced down the steps, stood staring up at her weary-eyed, blond-haired brother, a brief wash of confusion surging over her. What HAD happened? Had the wish worked? Was everyone...was everyone...?  
  
"Miaka," Keisuke growled, looking highly irritated. "Did you stop to eat on the way or something?"  
  
She stared at him, uncomprehending. Keisuke let out an exasperated sigh and raised his hand, held it irritably before her. "Phone's for you," he muttered, rubbing wearily at his eyes. "You're lucky it didn't wake Mom up."  
  
Miaka took the proffered receiver, held it in trembling fingers. "Wh...who is it?" she stammered, suddenly very afraid of what might await her when she pulled the phone to her ear. A chill, icy sensation was growing in her stomach, rolling within her until she wondered whether she was hungry...or if maybe she was going to throw up. She grimaced. Noting the expression, Keisuke took a wary step back, raised his hands as if to ward her away.   
  
"Miaka, I TOLD you not to have that fifth helping tonight...I told you...!" As he spoke, the young man backed away, looking panicked. "Goodnight!"  
  
"But...but, Oniichan...!"  
  
It was too late. Keisuke had thundered up the stairs and retreated into his bedroom. A door slammed.  
  
Sighing, Miaka stared at the receiver in her hand, trembling but not quite understanding why.  
  
//This is my answer,\\ she thought suddenly, clenching her teeth in fear and a bit of nervous hope. //On the other end of this line is...is my answer. I just...I just know it.\\  
  
Shaking, more scared than she could remember being since she'd thought Tamahome was lost forever to the kodoku, Miaka lifted the receiver, placed it against her ear, and spoke. "H...hello?"  
  
There was a slight pause. "Miaka!" came a bright, familiar voice from the other end. "What took you so long? Stop to eat on the way to the phone?"  
  
Miaka froze. Suddenly, there was no breath in her lungs, no strength in her muscles...the receiver dropped heavily from her hands, thudded down onto the carpeting, bounced once, and lay still. Hand flying to her mouth, Miaka sank weakly to the floor, spent a long moment fighting back the shocked, startled tears.  
  
At last, still trembling and barely able to force her muscles into action, Miaka reached to the floor, grabbed up the receiver, and placed it against her ear. Her voice was low and shaky. "N...Nuriko?" 


	2. II: Conversation. Smiles and Sacrifice.

"The Last Wish" - continued from Part I  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Nuriko frowned at the receiver. "Haaaaaai," he breathed, smiling slightly. "It's good to know you remember my voice, Miaka...after all, we've only known each other for what, six, seven years?"  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence from the other end of the phone. "S-S-S-S-S-Six or seven YEARS?"  
  
"Anou...Miaka...are you sure you're awake?"  
  
There was yet another stretch of silence, followed by the clatter of dishes and something which sounded suspiciously like crunching...Nuriko placed his hands on his hips, glared suspiciously at the phone. "Miaaaaaka," he growled. "What are you doing?"  
  
Something rustled...and, there was that crunching again... "Gomen, Nuriko," Miaka mumbled, sounding as if she was chewing frantically. "I was making sure I was awake."  
  
Nuriko sighed in near-exasperation, falling back onto a nearby chair and bringing a slim hand to his forehead. "I see," he said, a slight smile dancing onto his lips. "Well, are you?"  
  
"Yes," the other replied after a moment, sounding slightly confused. "Food never tastes this real in my dreams."  
  
"Well, in that case, do you mind if I ask you what I called to ask you?"  
  
"Uh...sure..."  
  
Nuriko frowned. "Miaka, are you sure you're all right? You sound...strange."  
  
He could practically see Miaka waving her hand at the phone, that goofy, often-forced smile twisting her lips upwards... "No, no, I'm fine," she reassured, the familiar smile clear through her words. "What's up?"  
  
The violet-haired boy drew a soft breath, let it out in a hiss of air. "Miaka," he said firmly, steeling himself against the reaction he knew was coming... "I need you to...to..." He drew another deep breath, sighed. "I need you to skip lunch with me tomorrrow so we can try out for the musical."  
  
---  
  
Miaka felt her face fall. "N...Naaaaaaaaani?" she exclaimed, staring at the phone in a kind of dreamlike shock. "You...you wanna...you want to try out for the MUSICAL??"  
  
---  
  
Nuriko nodded, eyes closing in exasperation. "Hai, Miaka." He paused for a moment, then broke into a wide grin. "Besides, Hotohori is trying out for the lead..."  
  
On the other end of the phone, Miaka giggled slightly. "Well, that explains it." She paused then, gasped. "Hotohori!" she cried. "He's...he's real, too! That means...that means...IT WORKED! EVERYONE IS REAL! Nuriko, everyone's real!"  
  
Nuriko frowned, but before he could respond, the girl had bubbled onwards.  
  
---  
  
"Anyway...sure, I'll try out for the musical with you...ne, maybe some of the others will be there, too! And...and..." Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest. "And...Tamahome," she whispered.  
  
Nuriko laughed. "Tamahome? In the musical? Oh, come on, Miaka. After dating him for two years I'd think you'd know him a little better than that. Nah, he and Tasuki are doin' stage crew."  
  
Miaka stared at the phone in a bit of shock, then smiled...then grinned. "Two years?" she echoed carefully. "I've been...I've been dating...we've been...aahhhh, TAMAHOME!"  
  
---  
  
Nuriko brought a hand to his forehead. "Miaka, maybe you should get some rest...you sound like you need it."  
  
"Eh? Oh...uh...okay...I am kind of tired. Ne, why'd you call me so late, anyway?"  
  
He grinned. "Come on, Miaka, you know I never sleep. Anyway, it's only midnight." He glanced again at the nearby clock, stared at the reddish numbers for a few moments. "Gomen ne, Miaka...I forgot your family goes to bed at nine."  
  
"Ten," she corrected, sounding mildly irritated.  
  
Nuriko smiled. "Close enough. Goodnight, Miaka."  
  
---  
  
Miaka felt her lips bending upwards into a smile, and joy such as she'd never before felt in her life surged through her, left her happy and contented and scarcely able to believe that this wasn't some strange dream. "Goodnight...Nuriko."   
  
There was a click as Nuriko hung up the phone. Miaka stood there for a long moment, staring down at the receiver in her hand with wide, smiling eyes. At last, she bent forward, returned it to its place on the base, and straightened, turning towards the stairs to go back to her room...  
  
Suddenly, she froze, the breath draining from her lungs in a moment of panic. "Matte!" she cried. "I have to skip lunch?!" 


	3. III: Walking to School. Thoughts of th...

*AUTHOR'S NOTE: Gomen ne that this chapter is kind of short--I was all ready to write the next scene when suddenly I was stricken with the tragedy of realizing my time on the computer was up. Alas...I must be on my merry way now, but tomorrow I'll get the scene finished up and posted...if all goes well. Ah, but don't let the lack of length stop you--read and review to your hearts' content, oh kind-hearted fanficcers... ^_^.   
  
---  
  
"The Last Wish" - continued from Part II  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
It was more than a little strange, walking down the street to school with Nuriko beside her. He looked surprisingly...good in the typically-nondescript school uniform, his thick violet hair braided and hanging in a heavy line down his back, his white dress shirt spotlessly-clean and neatly-pressed...even his shoes were spotless, shined to a sparkling gleam. Nuriko was as immaculate as always... She frowned a moment, pausing in her examination--his hair was shorter than she remembered it being, coming only to the middle of his back...but it was only a minor flaw in the strange perfection of this real, living, breathing human being. This was definitely Nuriko...definitely. His movements, his vocal patterns, even the way he grinned at her when she said something less than intelligent--which was often--it was all so familiar, so perfectly, wonderfully-Nuriko... Suddenly caught up in the realizations of just where she was and who she was with, Miaka halted in the center of the sidewalk, turned and grabbed the older boy into a sudden, near-violent hug.  
  
Nuriko broke off whatever it was he'd been chattering about and stared down at her in surrpise, his dark, glittering violet eyes widening, a soft breath escaping his lips. "M...Miaka?" he asked tentatively, gazing down at the brown head suddenly buried in his shirt. "Miaka, are you sure you're feeling all right?"  
  
She held onto the embrace for a moment longer, squeezed Nuriko tightly...then released him, took a short step back. "Un," she answered, smiling softly. "Gomen ne, Nuriko...I just...I just needed to, that's all."  
  
Nuriko shrugged, shoving his slim hands into his pants pockets and beginning to walk again. The two moved in silence for a few moments, their matching footsteps nearly inaudible against the background of moving traffic and bustling students and workers. At last, Nuriko glanced up from the moving patch of sidewalk he'd been staring at, turned briefly to the girl beside him. "Ne, Miaka," he began slowly. His voice was quiet, solemn. "I know...I know you're probably tired of me asking you this, but...well, today is...well, you see..." He closed his eyes briefly, coming to a stop, and let out a quiet sigh. "Today is the day...the day Kourin died, and I know I asked you this last year, too, but, I hate going to the cemetary alone and I know that Tamahome has practice tonight and so I thought that maybe--"  
  
"Oh, no!" Miaka cried suddenly, bringing a hand to her mouth in horror. "No! Why did Kourin die here, too!? That's not fair! Oh, Nuriko, how'd it happen?"  
  
Nuriko stared at her in shock, a stricken expression crossing his pallid features. His voice was low and hoarse. "M...Miaka...I...you know this already...after all, I mean...you were THERE..."  
  
Miaka turned away, an anguished gleam springing to her eyes. "But I...I can't remember." She turned to him suddenly, grabbed his deceptively-slim arm and clung to it. "Onegai, Nuriko...tell me what happened...please, tell me what happened to Kourin!"  
  
Nuriko was silent for a long moment, his face gone suddenly pale, his eyes wide and anguished. At last, he nodded slowly, then abruptly seemed to realize that they were standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk...he took her arm, led her to the edge of the walkway. "Fine," he said at last. "Miaka...I don't know what's going on or what's wrong with you, but..." He closed his eyes. "But, I'll tell you...if you want to know. Come on, let's sit."  
  
The two moved to a nearby property wall, slid down onto it. Nuriko seemed to spend a few tense moments in mental preparation, then turned to her, fixed her with the same intense gaze she remembered so well from the cave all that time ago, just before they reached Hokkan...just before Nuriko...Nuriko...   
  
Involuntarily, she shuddered, wrapping thin arms around herself, but Nuriko didn't seem to notice. Slowly, tentatively, he began to speak.   



	4. IV: Kourin.

"The Last Wish" - continued from Part III  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Seven Years Earlier  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Kouuuuuuuuuuuurin!"  
  
The girl glanced up from the muddied ground, gave her brother a wide grin. "Niisama. Hayaku!" Kourin giggled, squeezing her tiny body beneath a nearby bush, and came out on the other side a moment later with grass and twigs twisting in her hair. "Hurry," she repeated in a low, giggle-smothered voice. "They're coming!"  
  
Ryuen turned briefly, glanced over his shoulder at the empty path, then turned back to his sister. He smiled, brushing the dirt from his blue jeans and jogging to where she sat on the ground. "Kourin, they'll never find us here." He grinned, wrapping his arm affectionately around the girl's neck and pulling her close for a few seconds. "You're too good at this game."  
  
Kourin wriggled free, gazed up at him with wide, smiling violet eyes so much like his own. "Only 'cause you taught me to play it so good," she insisted a bit stubbornly. She smiled then, her lips bending upwards, bringing a new light to her features, a new, admiring warmth to her eyes. "Niichan never loses...at anything, right?"  
  
Ryuen grinned, raising his nose a few inches into the air and nodding. "That's right," he replied, a hint of pride slipping into his tone. He grinned. "Never. At ANYTHING." He lowered his chin, glanced at his younger sister in search of that pleased, amused smile that crossed her lips so frequently...and paused, frowning. An odd expression had crossed Kourin's face, and now she was sitting crosslegged on the ground, staring up at him with a strange solemnity glistening in those wide violet eyes.   
  
Her small fingers were suddenly wrapped around his bicep, her eyes still locked intensely on his own. "Good," she said quietly after a moment, her voice low, harsh; urgent. "Don't lose. Not ever."  
  
Ryuen laughed a bit hesitantly, the chuckle coming out harsh and strained in the stillness of the woods. "Kourin...what're you--" He broke off abruptly, eyes snapping to the nearby clearing as the sound of footsteps and a distinct rustling echoed from somewhere just down the path... Kourin immediately ducked beneath the bush so she was out of sight, reached up a hand to drag him down with her.   
  
"Niichan, get down!" she hissed, the excited gleam back in her eyes.   
  
He frowned at her but complied, puzzled by the disappearance of that strange solemnity in her voice and manner...what had that even BEEN? It was almost as if she was staring at him from another place in time, looking back at him with the wisdom of age and experience--the kind of knowledge no ten-year-old should ever find within them... But...but, now... He glanced at her again, crouched down there so near the ground, her small fingers wrapped around the leaves of the bush, her large, glittering violet eyes staring fixedly into the clearing to see who was coming... Despite the game, she was dressed in the flowered yellow sundress she'd practically been living in since Okaasan gave it to her for her birthday, and her hair was well-brushed and braided, hanging in immaculate twists around her head.   
  
Ryuen shook his head, turning back to the clearing as a squat, familiar figure at last came into view. He put his worries aside for a moment, let himself concentrate on the game...besides...Kourin seemed fine now, back to normal...maybe he'd just imagined it. Yes...that was it.  
  
He snickered, grinned mischievously at Kourin. "It's that weird girl with the meatballs on her head," he whispered, pointing briefly to the approaching child.   
  
"Miaka," Kourin supplied in the same tone, staring at the girl with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. "I like her," she said at last. "We should help her out."  
  
Ryuen blanched. "Help her out?"  
  
"Yeah. I bet she doesn't have a place to hide yet..."  
  
His face darkened, spying the odd girl digging blissfully through her backpack in the center of the clearing. "Kourin, maybe it's not such a good--"  
  
Before he could finish the sentence, however, Kourin had risen to her feet and was waving wildly at the confused-looking Miaka, who--now that he looked at her--appeared to be perhaps a year or so younger than Kourin herself was...God, not only a moron with meatballs on her head, but a BABY moron with meatballs on her head... Despite his initial reaction, however, he forced himself to be pleasant with the girl--for Kourin's sake, at least.   
  
This resolve, however, didn't last very long as the girl paused in the center of the clearing to unwrap what looked to be a candy bar...  
  
"Miaka, come on!" he exclaimed, losing all patience at the sight of the girl's frantic chewing. "Come on, baka, they'll find us!"  
  
Miaka stared at him with wide, frightened green eyes, then nodded, her mouth still stuffed full of chocolate. "Un!" she cried, nodding enthusiastically. Ryuen rolled his eyes. A moment later, the girl had flounced across the clearing and ducked behind the bush with the two older children, eyes wide and the remnants of the chocolate staining her lips and chin a dark, sludgy brown. Ryuen fought his brief disgust, glanced to Kourin to give her a pleading look...and paused, startled, as he caught a glimpse of his sister.  
  
Kourin had lowered herself back onto the ground, folding her slim, pale legs beneath her...but, rather than peering out into the clearing, she was staring at him and Miaka, glancing back and forth between them with a strange, peaceful, contented smile crossing her face. It was an odd expression to see on a ten-year-old, made all the stranger when he thought of the strange things she'd been saying earlier...come to think of it, she'd been acting a bit strangely for a few weeks now...every now and then he'd glance up from whatever he was doing and find her just standing there beside him, gazing down at him as if trying to memorize his features...and, there were the nightmares, too. They'd begun the day after her birthday last week, terrorizing her mercilessly night after night after night...he would awaken to her screams, run to her bed, shake her awake...and, she would leap into his arms, shaking and sweating and crying, and cling to him so tightly that there would be fingernail marks on his arms...  
  
It scared him...but he hadn't thought too much of it. After all, every little kid had nightmares...they were normal. Terrifying, horrible...but normal. Why worry about something so normal?  
  
But...but, there was something about the way she clung to him...something about the look in her eyes after she woke up...something about the anguish in her voice as she cried out during the dreams...something about the strange, foreign words he heard her mumbling as she drifted back to sleep...  
  
"Nuriko." Always...always "Nuriko." And, another word...one that filled him with a strange, unquenchable uneasiness... "Ashitare." He shuddered, involuntarily, suddenly very aware of the fact that Kourin was staring at him again...God, that word...it sent a chill to his spine like nothing else...and he didn't even know WHY...God, he didn't even know what it MEANT.  
  
Coming back to the present, Ryuen pushed the frightening thoughts to the back of his mind, forced himself to focus on the warm sunlight flickering down onto his back, the cool spring breeze fluttering his clothes and hair...the two girls who sat staring up at him from just a few inches away.   
  
There would be plenty of time to worry later...but not...not now. Not now.  
  
"Ha! FOUND YOU!"  
  
The three jumped, spinning towards the sound...  
  
"Damn it!" Ryuen exclaimed, scowling at the blue-haired boy behind them. "Rokou, that's not fair...you didn't tell us you were bein' a searcher this game."  
  
Rokou snickered. "Actually, I'm not," he replied, sniffing slightly. The elder boy sighed, sank down onto the ground. "If you wanna know the truth...well...um..."  
  
The violet-haired boy's eyes widened. "Aw, no...Rokou...not again."  
  
Rokou grimaced. "Yeah...sorry, Ryuen...but...um...well, they were right behind me...so, they might be coming here pretty soon..."  
  
Sighing, Ryuen climbed to his feet, rolling up his sleeves as he moved. "All right," he said firmly, casting the three a stern glance. "You three stay here, I'll take care of this."  
  
Miaka suddenly looked alarmed. "What's going on?" she asked.   
  
Her voice was high; squeaky. Ryuen winced...then turned back to his older brother, nodded briefly. "Yeah, who is it this time, aniki?"  
  
Rokou grimaced. "Um...actually..."  
  
Something rustled. "There you are, you little idiot!" came a harsh voice from across the clearing.  
  
The four turned, and Ryuen felt his eyes widen. "A GIRL?" he demanded, turning back to Rokou with a half-shocked, half-enraged expression crossing his face. "You pissed off a GIRL this time?"   
  
---  
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry to stop right in the midst of things, but alas, I must be on my way once more...but, never fear, gentle reader. I shall return. Ah, but until I do...lemme know what you think. I live on this stuff. ^_^. Ja! 


	5. V: Shattered. Farewell, Ryuen.

*AUTHOR'S NOTE: First of all, let me state that my computer is Tenkou incarnate. *growls* I had three pages of this written, was just clicking on the save button...and, suddenly, the screen blanked out, flashed off for a minute, then flashed back on...and guess what? Yup. All my work, gone. Gurgh. Ah, but anyway...I got most of it back, and even improved some of it from how it was before the hideous blank-out...anyway. :) I shook while I was writing much of this...it was a very intense scene to write, and the fact that I was under the effects of a migraine, a great deal of caffeine, and extreme lack of sleep while I was composing it...well, you can draw your own conclusions. :) Anyway...read and review and, as promised, ye shall have my undying love and devotion. *snifflesob* Adieu! ^_^.  
  
---  
  
"The Last Wish" - continued from Part IV  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
[seven years earlier...continued...]  
  
  
Eyes narrowing, Ryuen surveyed his brother's attackers, sizing them up with almost meticulous care and attention. Now that he took a moment to study them, he noticed that there were actually three children standing at the edge of the clearing, all near his age, and all glaring angrily in Rokou's direction. The first, and the one who'd spoken, was indeed a girl. She was tall and gangly-limbed but not at all awkward. She moved with a subtle kind of grace, thin arms often traveling to a restful spot on her hips as she walked, thick chestnut hair hanging in long waves over slim shoulders. He frowned for a moment, then, taking in her simple jean shorts and grey tank top, and found himself thinking with an odd kind of certainty that she should be wearing something different...something more fitting to her graceful, warrior-like movements...  
  
Shaking away the odd thought, the boy turned his attention to girl's two companions. One was a small, almost painfully-cute boy with wide blue eyes and overalls, thick tufts of light-brown hair hanging over his forehead, covering portions of his eyes. He was easily the youngest one of the three, looking only to be around Miaka's age or so...but his eyes were hard, an almost sadistic gleam twisting what should have been just a cute little boy into something right out of the Chucky movies...a half-noticed detail made him frown, then, that same odd familiarity creeping into him... The boy was carrying a yoyo, playing with it absentmindedly as the showdown continued, and even though he knew that it was just a yoyo, that it wasn't going to be hurting anyone...still, he found his eyes following the toy suspiciously, almost as if he expected something terrible to come from it... Again, he shook the odd thought away, forced himself to continue his silent inspection before he was forced to make a move...   
  
The last of the three attackers was a-- He paused, frowning deeply. The last was a...a dog? He looked again, noticed the collar, the leash, the thick, ruffled brown-grey fur, the sharp, glistening, wolf-like teeth...yes, definitely a dog...a large, snarling, frightening beast of a dog...but, still a dog.   
  
Why in the world had he thought it was a person?   
  
Strange.  
  
"What do you want with Rokou?" he called firmly, much like he always did, fisted hands held protectively in front of him. As he stood, he sensed Rokou, Kourin, and Miaka leave the safety of the bush, come up behind him...and felt his lips twist gently upwards into a slight smile. It always felt better, facing these bullies with the strength of others behind him...it hoisted him up, made every burden feel lighter...his smile twisted into a grin.   
  
The girl stepped forward an inch or so, tugging the snarling, growling dog with her. The other boy moved much like a puppy himself, hanging just off her shoulder, an eager, anxious look glistening in the bright blue of his eyes.   
  
The girl smiled slightly. "What do *I* want with Rokou?" Her smile widened. "Nothing at all. But, I know someone here--" She reached down a slim hand, patted the dog's furred neck affectionately. "--who'd love to take a bite out of that brother of yours."  
  
He heard Miaka let out a low squeal behind him. "Doggy!" she cried.  
  
Ryuen rolled his eyes, readjusted his fighting stance. "Look, whatever Rokou did, he didn't mean it...there's no reason to sic your dog on him..."  
  
The girl's lips lifted, again, and a new, icy gleam struck deeply into her eyes. "Oh, this isn't my dog. And, anyway, your brother didn't do anything to him. He did something to his OWNER." Her eyes narrowed. "Ayuru doesn't appreciate it when kids get their noses into things of his...guess your brother just picked the wrong guy to piss off today, huh?"  
  
The boy behind her, the one with the wide blue eyes, let out a slight chuckle, leaned forward as he spoke. "Yeah!" he chimed, smiling wickedly. "Ayuru-sama won't let you get away with this!" The yoyo danced between his small fingers, moving in almost hypnotizing circles from side to side to side...and then, abruptly, the boy's graceful fingers slipped, and the yoyo slid from his hands, lashed out hard to the side...and struck into the dog's furred back with an audible SLAP.  
  
And, that was when everything went to hell.  
  
The wolf-dog let out an ear-splitting, screeching howl of pain and rage and darted forward, dragging the girl forward a few inches before she at last lost grip on the leash and fell to her knees on the ground... "Ashitare!" she shouted, sounding both surprised and angry, waving a frantic hand at the dog as if to urge him back. "Ashitare, get back here! ASHITARE!"  
  
Ryuen felt the blood freeze in his veins, the strength bleed out of his arms and legs...gods. Gods...she'd said...she'd said, "Ashitare..." He whipped his head around to look at Kourin, to see if she'd heard it, too...if she remembered...but, she wasn't looking at him, was staring at something over his shoulder...she looked...she looked scared...  
  
Oh...oh, yeah.  
  
Cursing himself silently, the boy spun on his heel, faced front just in time to see the snarling dog leaping at his throat...things seemed to go in slow motion, then, to tick along frame by frame like on TV...and in that long, stretched out moment of silence and fear and shadow, he noticed with a bit of a frown that the dog had only one good eye...that something had slashed through the other, left a thick, dark scar through his face... But, he had only an instant to muse, because then time flashed back into full-speed, and there were claws and teeth and fur flying towards him, going for his throat, trying to hurt him...trying to kill him...! God, he had to get out of the way!! Almost without thinking, Ryuen dove to the side, heard a swish of air and felt the sting of claws slicing into his shoulder as the dog just barely missed him...  
  
And, then...  
  
He turned, hand automatically clasping onto his wounded shoulder, and felt a chill of horror run through him, opened his mouth as if to protest...no...no...no...  
  
It...it couldn't go like this. Because...because if this happened...if this happened, then that meant it was HIS fault...his fault...it had been a choice, really...stay and die...or move, live...and offer another in his place. Good God, what had he done???  
  
Someone screamed, and slowly, belatedly, he dashed forward, grabbed angrily onto the dog's torso, and hurled it away with all his strength...he knew, though, that it was too late, even as he heard the creature land far away with a yelp of pain, a cry of obvious injury... Good. GOOD. He hoped it died. He hoped it died slowly and painfully...he hoped someone ripped out its throat and fed it to him...because...because...  
  
Ryuen began to shake. His breath came in short, quick gasps, and his eyes were large and pained...he...he couldn't bear to look at this...to see the blood, the thick, deep gashes in her skin...the soft, crimson-stained yellow fabric of that tiny little sundress...but, he couldn't take his eyes away. He couldn't look anywhere else. Suddenly weak, he fell to his knees on the ground, somehow managed to crawl to his sister's side.  
  
"G...God...Kou...rin..."   
  
She lay on her back on the moist forest floor, a shattered porcelain doll, a broken, mangled, bleeding shadow of what she had been only a few moments before...gods...gods...why? Why had he moved? Why hadn't he stayed, let himself be attacked?? It might not have killed him...he was tough, he was older...he could've taken it...maybe he could've fought off the thing, kept both of them alive...but...but...  
  
She was just a kid. Just a little, defenseless kid...and...she'd never had a chance.   
  
He could see it, now, in his mind's eye...the wolf-dog leaping for him, snarling and gnashing and slicing out with those claws...Kourin had crept up behind him, was reaching for him, trying to get him to move out of the way...but, he hadn't seen her, he hadn't known she was there...gods, why hadn't he known? He should've known...but, he didn't...he didn't, so he'd moved...he'd dived out of the way, managed to escape uninjured, mostly untouched...but...  
  
But, Kourin...  
  
Torn. Shattered. Broken. D...dead.  
  
His fingers wrapped around her thin, lifeless arm, clutched onto it so tightly that he felt his fingernails digging into the cooling flesh, the bones of his hand pressing tightly against the tiny bones of that slim little arm...gods...if...if only he hadn't moved...if only he'd stayed there...if only he hadn't moved...if he hadn't, she would still be here...she would still...still be here...instead of...instead of...  
  
"KOURIN!" he screamed, clutching onto those tiny shoulders and shaking her, shaking her hard...he had to wake her up...she had to get up, open her eyes, breathe...live...God, what had he done??? It was all his fault...all his fault...so, she had to get up...she HAD TO GET UP! This...this couldn't be happening...it couldn't be real! They were always together...always...so, if she was dead...then, he must be too, right? Yes...yes, that was it...they were BOTH dead...they were both dead, because he and Kourin...they were always, always together...he couldn't be sitting here, living and breathing without her...it was silly...impossible.  
  
She was always there...always...so, this couldn't be real...it couldn't be! It was stupid. Impossible. Unthinkable! For Kourin to be gone would mean that he would wake up tomorrow morning and not see her perched on the edge of her bed, watching him sleep...it would mean that he would go downstairs to breakfast and mold his waffles into fun shapes and have no one there to giggle at his creations...it would mean that he would walk to school alone...eat lunch alone...walk home alone...play alone...be alone...alone...always alone...because, if Kourin wasn't there, who WAS?  
  
//Why did I move? Why...why did I move?\\  
  
He should be dead. Yes...he should be dead...it should be Kourin who sat here beside HIS bleeding, broken body...Kourin who stared down at him with tears in her eyes...Kourin who lived...Kourin who breathed...Kourin who would wake up tomorrow and live some more...God, this couldn't be happening...what right did he have to be alive when she wasn't? What right did he have to even BREATHE when she couldn't??  
  
"No...no...no...n...no..." Each breath was a sob, a denial...each thought was pain...each emotion was agony...  
  
He felt warm hands press against his shoulders, try to pull him away...but he fought them, shoved them back with all his strength, and lay his head down on Kourin's lifeless chest, hugged her unmoving body tightly and closed his eyes.   
  
It...it wasn't real. Couldn't be. He'd open his eyes in a minute and find himself lying in bed, Kourin sleeping soundly just a few feet away, Rokou's loud snores echoing through the room...Kourin always giggled about that, he remembered...called him the 'buzz saw...' He smiled, bitterly.   
  
It HAD to be a dream...but...but, the dream was not fading. The scent of Kourin's blood, the warmth of it on his hands...it was still there, still real, still fresh and harsh and painful...it was still here. God...it was still here.  
  
"Kourin," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and feeling a stream of hot tears streak down his cheeks. "Kourin...Kourin... KOURIN!!"  
  
He never knew how he got from there to the safety of his father's arms, the warmth of his own bed, but at some point, people came, took him away...took her away... He caught a glimpse of Rokou's face during the blurry interim, saw that it was pale and wan and sick-looking...he glanced around, then, knowing only vaguely that he was being carried away from the bloody spot on the forest floor, being taken to the car...the wolf-dog, the one called Ashitare, was nowhere to be seen, and neither was that girl...but, the blue-eyed boy, the one with the yoyo, sat quietly beneath an oak tree a few feet off the path, staring vacantly into space with a look of horror on his small face...their eyes met, briefly, and Ryuen knew in that moment that it had affected him...that something had changed in that little boy today...   
  
Then, things faded again, and he had the vague impression of being strapped into the backseat of the car, of someone crying nearby, very loudly...choked, high-pitched sobs, harsh with the very depths of agony...and then there was a warm, brotherly hand on his arm, Rokou's soft, pained voice in his ear...  
  
"Don't cry, Ryuen...please...it's all right...don't cry like that, you're scaring Mom...it's okay...please...please, it's okay..."  
  
But...but it wasn't okay. It would never be okay...because, Kourin was gone. Kourin was...gone.  
  
He blanked out again, came back to himself as his father carried him up those familiar wooden stairs, placed him gently beneath the soft, warm blue cotton covers of his bed, tucked him in...he let his head rest against the pillow, closed his eyes...and suddenly felt a horrible pain in his heart, a frantic, intense moment of panic explode within him... He sat up straight in the bed, glanced around the room with terror in his eyes. "Kourin?" he exclaimed, searching...searching...where was she...gods, where was she...WHERE WAS SHE??? "Where are you? Please! Please, Kourin! Kourin! KOURIN!!!"  
  
There were strong arms around him, then, holding him close, comforting him, quieting his frantic cries, soothing his panicked, trembling nerves...  
  
His father released him slowly, carefully, lay him back onto the pillow. "Wait right here, Ryuen," he said softly, soothingly. "I'll be right back...just wait right here...take deep breaths...it'll be all right..."  
  
"K...Kourin," he whispered.  
  
His father nodded slowly, sadly, and then there was the sound of his feet thudding against the floorboards, pattering down the steps...the faucet turned on, and then there was the swish of the refrigerator being tugged open, the low murmur of voices...the quiet whispers of his mother's sobs...then, the thud-thud-thud returned, and his father was once again standing in his doorway, crossing to the bed... A warm arm slipped behind his back, hoisted him up into a semi-sitting position, offered a small pill and a glass of water.  
  
"Here...take this, Ryuen. Come on...swallow it down...there you go...good boy. That'll help you sleep...here, now, lay back...lay back, it's all right...there...that's right. Now, close your eyes...you'll be able to sleep soon."  
  
His eyes were wide and hopeful, a tentative smile creeping onto his lips. "Sleep?" he whispered. "Oh...oh...good... I can...I can go away...I can sleep...and, Kourin can come back..." He nodded, settled deeply into the pillow and closed his eyes. "Kourin can come back...and I'll go away. I'll...I'll go away."  
  
His father could only watch as the violet-haired boy's eyes drifted closed, as his breathing slowed, as he drifted off into a thick sleep... Then, the man rose to his feet, crossed to the door, and stepped out into the hallway, tugging the door quietly closed behind him.   
  
It was only then that he began to cry...only then that he realized the depths of his loss. Not just a daughter, he knew, remembering the pained, haunted look in his youngest son's eyes, the agony of his sobs...no. Not just a daughter.  
  
His son...Ryuen...he was lost, too. Maybe forever.  
  
--- 


	6. VI: Dreams. The Weeping Willow.

"The Last Wish" - continued from Part V  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
Miaka's eyes were wide and horrified, one hand pressed tightly against her lips. "Oh...oh, Nuriko," she managed at last, staring at the suddenly-fragile-looking boy beside her with pain in her eyes. "I'm...I'm sorry."  
  
He shrugged a bit uncomfortably, folded his slender arms carefully over his chest. "It wasn't your fault, Miaka. It was...it was mine." His voice was low, thick with the pain of the memories...the pain of his guilt. After another long moment of silent introspection, Nuriko drew in a long breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils. He turned to her then, the ghost of a smile twisting his lips upward, bringing a new and welcome warmth into his eyes. "Anyway...if it weren't for you..." His eyes closed, and that soft smile lifted upwards, just a bit. "If it weren't for you...helping me through it...I don't know what I would've done."  
  
She stared at him with wide eyes. "I...I helped you through it?"  
  
Nuriko inclined his head a fraction of an inch, smiled at her warmly. "Hai." His slender fingers twisted together in his lap, trembled just noticeably. "You helped me...more than you'll ever know, Miaka."  
  
  
---  
  
Seven Years Earlier  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It was morning again...at least, he thought it was. Weakly, he lifted his head, peered out at the world through a thick haze of dark eyelashes...and winced as a shaft of sunlight pierced into his vision, left him blinded and in pain. Groaning, Ryuen lay back, tugged the covers back over his head. His breath was warm and moist against his cheeks, echoing back at him from the soft prison of the covers, making it difficult to breathe...reality sliced into him, then, made him remember.  
  
This was no ordinary day...the...the funeral was today.  
  
Much to his surprise, he didn't feel that horrible welling sensation in his throat as the thought flitted through his mind...he didn't scream or cry or rip at the lightly-bandaged wound on his shoulder like he'd been doing the past few days...no. He just lay there, staring up into the darkness of his blankets, suffocating slowly on the warmth of his own breath. Kourin was...gone. And, even though he knew that, somewhere within him, it still hurt...right now, he didn't feel a thing. Everything...his heart, his mind...it was all numb today...he was just a shell...nothing left inside to feel...nothing. Nothing left.  
  
At last, he tossed the heavy blankets back from his face and chest, drew in a long, cool breath of morning air, let it fill his lungs, cleanse his mind... It was Tuesday. Saturday seemed so long ago...but, it was only, what, three days ago? God. Three days. Kourin had been dead for three days...  
  
A brief prickle of pain stabbed into his heart, pierced through the numbness for an instant.  
  
//Three days ago right now...Kourin was still alive. Three days ago right now...everything was fine. Everything was perfect.\\  
  
"Ryuuuuuuuuen!" The high, light voice of his mother echoed from downstairs, snapped him back to reality. "Ryuen, are you awake? Come down to breakfast!"  
  
"Stop being so damned cheerful," came the low, angry murmur of his father's voice. There was the ruffle of newspaper, then, and the sound of a chair being pushed over the smooth linoleum of the kitchen floor. "Give him time," the low voice continued. "If he doesn't feel like coming down to breakfast, he doesn't have to."  
  
His mother's voice, hushed and harsh, chimed in then, shattered the soothing bass of his father's words. "No. I will not let him spend the rest of his life in that room. All he does is lie up there and sleep or sit on her bed and stare up at the ceiling. He has to deal with this! You KNOW that. If we keep letting him lay up there all day and don't help him come back to reality, he's never going to be able to get over this. Look, I've...I've lost my daughter. My only daughter...I've lost her...but, I'm still going on, I'm still living my life..." Her voice hardened. "Ryuen has to, too. We ALL have to."  
  
"You don't understand." It was Rokou. Ryuen listened intently, bare legs dangling over the side of the bed, toes brushing lightly against the cool wood of the floor. "You don't understand," the boy repeated, his voice barely recognizable...it was strong, Ryuen realized...strong, certain, assured...so unlike Rokou...so much more like himself... "Yeah," Rokou continued, "you lost a daughter. Yeah, I lost a sister...but, Ryuen...he lost more than that. It's like...it's like he lost HIMSELF, not just Kourin. It's like he's not there anymore...like he went with her or something... They're both...they're both gone."  
  
His mother let out a sharp gasp. "Rokou! Don't talk like that!"   
  
A chair skidded against the floor, and then there was the sound of the boy's retreating footsteps, the squeak of the front door being tugged open. "Fine, I won't," he promised in a low voice. "But, it's true. Ryuen and Kourin...they're both gone. And, I don't think any of us can make them come back."  
  
Then, the door slammed...and there was silence. Ryuen lay back and closed his eyes, drowned out whatever else was said...drowned out everything but his own soft, rhythmic breathing, the steady thud of his own heartbeat.   
  
A moment later, he was asleep.  
  
---  
  
Someone was shaking him.   
  
He awoke with a start, eyes flaring open, a startled breath fleeing his lungs...and felt the blood in his veins run cold, his heart freeze in his chest...she was...she was here...beside his bed...kneeling there in that soft yellow sundress, thick violet hair tumbling in waves over her tiny shoulders, slim fingers clutching onto his arm, dragging him from sleep...  
  
"Niisama," Kourin whispered. "Niisama, get up. Get up now."  
  
A hot, searing wetness sprang to his eyes, crept down his cheeks. "K...Kourin," he managed, crawling from the bed and placing his feet on the floor. Her hand was cool and comforting against his skin, her eyes wide and sparkling...but, there was something about her that seemed strange, something that seemed...wrong...  
  
"Kourin," he said at last, numbly letting himself be led across the room, towards the side of the room she'd always claimed as her own. "Kourin...you're...you're dead." The last word was a whisper.  
  
The girl turned back briefly, paused to look at him. Then, suddenly, she slid forward, wrapped her small arms around his waist, and held him tightly...the top of her head pressed against his chin, and soft tufts of violet hair tickled his flesh, made him shiver. She was...she was here...but, she wasn't...she wasn't real. He knew it...even as he felt the warmth of her small body in his arms, the heat of her breath against his cheek...he knew it wasn't real.   
  
It was a dream. He knew it, now...Kourin...Kourin wasn't really here.  
  
His sister released him, took a step back and stared up into his eyes. She giggled, then, very softly, and reached out a hand, touched it lightly to his cheek. "Silly," she said, smiling softly. "Of course I'm really here. Just 'cause it's a dream doesn't mean it's not real."  
  
She grabbed onto his hand, then, tugged him to the other side of the room...and stopped. One finger lanced out, pointed at the top drawer of her bureau. "There," she announced, a note of finality in her tone. "That's where you'll find it." She turned, smiled up at him. "Don't worry, Niisama. She'll help you." A soft giggle slipped from her lips, and he watched as she grabbed onto his hands, held them loosely, playfully. "But, you have to love her, Niisama," she commanded, eying him sternly. "You have to love her." She smiled. "But, I know you will."   
  
Something stabbed into him, made him draw a sharp breath. Abruptly, the world began to fade out around him, to draw him back to reality and his own bed... No...no...it was...it was ending?  
  
Kourin nodded slowly, sadly. "Hai, Niisama. It's time for me to go, now." She smiled again, sorrowfully. "You knew I had to...but it's all right, isn't it? Because, we're always together. We still are, Ryuen. We ALWAYS are."  
  
"No," he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. "No...don't...don't leave me...onegai...Kourin...don't leave..."  
  
"Gomen, Niisama...I have to."  
  
She was fading...drifting away into the darkness...leaving him...leaving him forever!!...no...no, why? Why? She was here, she was so close he could FEEL her...why did she have to go? Why did she have to...have to...  
  
He stopped. Something...something had changed.  
  
He felt the change in the very deepest part of his heart, felt it explode in the dark spot of his mind, the very core of his soul...it was...it was HER. She was changing...growing, expanding, learning, living...but, always growing...always growing...and as he looked at her for that one, last, shining instant, he saw that she was beautiful...tall, slender, and clad in a flowing wisp of violet silk, matching hair washing over her shoulders, fluttering around her face... She was beautiful...grown...perfect. Her lips, full and painted a glistening rose, lifted, and she looked down at him, spoke soft, warm words in the voice he'd never heard...but, the voice he knew, unmistakably, as Kourin's...   
  
They were strange words...words that didn't make sense, words that made him frown, question, wonder...but, words that, somehow, somewhere, struck a chord...words that MEANT something somewhere within him.   
  
"Don't cry, my lovely, weeping willow," the woman before him whispered, and he felt those soft fingers brush against his face, warm, strong arms hold him close. "Don't cry...my Nuriko."  
  
Then, it all faded...and he woke up.  
  
---  
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTE: Uhhhh...whoops...uh...kinda got a little sidetracked with the writing-about-Nuriko's-past thing... *wide smile* Anyway...er...let me know, eh? If the flashbacks are getting too tedious (I still have a bit more to go on this one, actually), I'll do my best to get back to the ACTUAL storyline. :) But...er...yes. Leave me a review and I'll name my firstborn after you...or...well, maybe my fish. *shrug*   
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Any "mush" in this chapter is Tasuki's fault. Three words: Setsuna Kutemo Zutto. *nod nod nod* Damn it, Tasuki. *smacks Tasuki into a wall* 


	7. VII: The Bracelet. Reviving the Dead.

"The Last Wish" - continued from 6  
  
---  
  
[Seven Years Earlier...continued...continued continued continued... *sweatdrop*]  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
The words were still ringing in his ears when he awoke to the touch of his father's hand on his arm. He snapped awake, fingers automatically clutching at the hand on his shoulder.   
  
"Ryuen...Ryuen, it's just me..."  
  
He stared at his father for a long moment, at the thick, dark hair, the kind blue eyes, the light shadows of his unshaven cheeks...and felt the memories of the dream come flooding back to him in full force, the memories of Kourin's fingers on his arm, Kourin's voice in his ears... His eyes widening, Ryuen rose from the bed, pushed past his startled father, and walked to the other side of the room. His bare feet slapped quietly against the floorboards, followed by the deeper, heavier thud of his father's boots.  
  
"Ryuen? Ryuen...what are you doing?"  
  
The boy said nothing, merely moved. A moment later, he stood before that familiar bureau, a rich, deep mahogany wood, on which sat neatly-stacked papers, books, and a few of Kourin's unicorn figurines...God, he missed her... But...but, no. This wasn't the time for that...she'd sent him here for a reason...she'd TOLD him to go here, to...to look in here...and, so he would.  
  
Reaching forward with trembling hands, Ryuen let his fingers brush against the cool metal of the draw handle, felt a ripple of inexplicable fear slice through him...what had she meant? What was he going to find in here? And...and, who had the "she" been that she'd spoken of? The one he was supposed to love?   
  
He felt the weight of his father's presence behind him, the sound of his heavy breathing just off his right shoulder. "Ryuen," the man said quietly. "Those are Kourin's things...come on. We have to get you dressed for the funeral."  
  
Ryuen only shook his head, wrapped his fingers around the brass handle...and pulled. And, with no dramatics or flair whatsoever, the drawer slid quietly open.  
  
He peered in with wide, curious eyes, leaning close to the drawer, looking for whatever it was he was supposed to "find" here...there was the usual neatly-piled stack of papers, the front leg from one of the broken figurines, Kourin's copy of The Last Unicorn, and a pile of assorted jewelry. He frowned, shifting through the papers, searching for something to catch his eye...what was he supposed to find? The icy weight of doubt sliced into him, then, made the frown deepen...had he just imagined the whole thing? Had it REALLY just been a dream??  
  
"No," he murmured, again feeling the sting of the tears welling in his eyes. "No...no, it has to be here...it...it has to be..."  
  
A heavy hand pressed against his shoulder. "Ryuen," came the quiet, pained voice of his father. "Ryuen, what are you looking for?"  
  
He didn't answer...he couldn't...he lifted the papers from the drawer, set them down on the top of the desk, shuffled them around so most of the text was visible, scanned them...nothing...just old school papers... Biting down on his lower lip to force back the tears, he reached in for the next item, the book... He hefted it, glanced at the inside cover, at the back, flipped through the pages...  
  
Nothing.  
  
The strength bled abruptly from his legs and he sank to the floor, weeping softly. It had just been a dream. Kourin...Kourin hadn't really come to him...he'd imagined it all...he'd imagined it all because he'd wanted to, because he'd needed to see her so badly...but, he hadn't really. But...but, if he hadn't, then why had he heard all those strange words? And, the one...the one that resonated deeply with him, the one he knew as his own even though he'd never heard it before except from her lips...  
  
Nuriko.  
  
No. NO. There had to be something here...there had to be! Setting his teeth firmly, Ryuen rose to his feet, pulled the drawer open the rest of the way with a violent tug...and paused, frowning, as a flash of silver caught his eye. He leaned closer to the drawer, peering down into the depths of it, and reached down into it, touched his fingers lightly against the pile of jewelry...Kourin's jewelry...necklaces and bracelets she would never wear again...  
  
As he lifted his hand from the drawer to wipe at the tears leaking through his eyelashes, his fingers brushed, briefly, against the cool metal of a large, jeweled bracelet...and, he froze. Frowning, eyes wide and still wet from the tears, he lifted the hand again, let his palm touch against the cool metal again...and, again, felt that tingle of power, that ripple of...of RIGHTNESS... Shaking, he grabbed onto the bracelet, lifted it from the drawer and stared at it.   
  
It was made of a thin, silvery metal, adorned with a single, sparkling green jewel, and decorated sparsely with slim strips of gold and other designs...he frowned, then, gazing at it in the light...it was so large...experimentally, he slipped it onto his thin wrist, pushed on it...gods, it could reach nearly to his shoulder... Kourin never could've worn it...so, why did she have it? Was this...was this what he was supposed to find, what she'd been leading him to?  
  
But, why??  
  
His father cleared his throat, staring down at him with large, sorrowful eyes. "R...Ryuen..."  
  
He closed his eyes. Standing here, the bracelet hanging loosely from his wrist, the familiar, flowery fragrance of his sister all around him...he let his eyes drift open, gazed at himself in the thin mirror hanging over the bureau. His hair had fallen from its usual ponytail and lay in scattered waves over his shoulders, wisps of bangs hanging unevenly over his eyes. He let his eyes go unfocused, gazed at the figure in the mirror, at the sparkle of silver on his wrist, the thick violet waves of his hair...God. He looked just like her.  
  
It was...it was like she was still here...like she lived in him...  
  
"Ryuen..."  
  
He opened his eyes, gazed up at his father. "Don't call me that anymore," he murmured, pushing past the man, moving silently to the nearby closet. His fingers brushed against the soft, smooth silk of her dresses, clutched onto the thicker cotton of her lacy white dress shirts. Why...if he...if he wore one of these...if he... God, he would look just like her...just like her...  
  
He drew one of the dresses from the closet, held it against his chest and closed his eyes. That light, flowery scent still clung to the fabric, filled his nostrils, reminded him of days not so long ago when she was still here, still alive and breathing and laughing...God, he missed her... She...she couldn't be gone, could she? No...not...not really...she couldn't. What had she said, in the dream?   
  
/It's all right, isn't it? Because, we're always together. We still are...we ALWAYS are...\  
  
"Yes," he murmured. "Together. We always are..."  
  
He turned, pulling the dress with him, only half-noticing that his father had left the room sometime between when he was standing at the bureau and when he crossed to the closet...but, it didn't matter...because...because, he could make Kourin come back...yes. After all, it was his fault, wasn't it? HE should be the one to die, not her...she was innocent. Wasn't even her fault, really...it was his...he was a murderer...her murderer...and, murderers had to die, didn't they?...so, he would die. Yes...yes, he would die, and Kourin could come back...it was fair, it was perfect...it would work... All he had to do was...was get everything ready so Kourin could come back...and, she would...of course she would! Because, they were always together...no matter what...  
  
Kourin wasn't gone... It was HIS fault she hadn't been able to come back yet...he was still here, and so how could she come back with him still here? He was the one who was supposed to have died...it was just a mix-up...a mix-up, so he would fix it...he would make it right... Ryuen was dead. Not Kourin. Kourin was too good to die...too...too young, too good, too innocent...yes. So, Ryuen must be dead.  
  
He had to set things right...he had to...to make up for it all...he had to... The tears stung his eyes, but he moved anyway, crossed to the room's only door and slammed it shut. His fingers twisted the lock into place, and then he returned to the bureau, lowered himself into Kourin's chair. He was taller than her, just a little...but, that was all right...everything else...it was okay...it would be okay... He tugged off his nightshirt, slipped his sweatpants down over his ankles and tossed them vaguely in the direction of the other side of the room...the dress was soft and silken against his skin, and although it came only to his shins when it should've come closer to his ankles...it was okay.   
  
He gazed at himself in the mirror, felt a ripple of hope surge through him...but, no...it wasn't right, yet...it wasn't PERFECT yet...he tugged open the bottom drawer of the bureau, tugged out a small tin of lip gloss and a box of assorted hairstyling items...he'd seen her do this a thousand times, had watched those small fingers twisting and turning the hair into elaborate twists and braids...he would just have to settle for something less-difficult, but in time...in time, he knew he could learn to make it perfect...he could learn--it would be all right...he would make it perfect...perfect, because Kourin hated disorder...she hated it when things weren't perfect and clean and good...so, he would make it perfect. Yes...perfect.  
  
Vaguely aware of the streaks of salty liquid dripping over his cheeks, he set to work on the task of braiding his long hair, ignoring the calls of his parents and brother, ignoring the thuds of angry footsteps outside the door...ignoring everything but the task at hand...and the slow ressurrection of his sister in the mirror before him.  
  
Soon, everything would be right again. Soon...Kourin would be back.  
  
--- 


	8. VIII: A Candle For Kourin. Healing.

  
"The Last Wish" - continued from 7   
  
---  
  
[Seven Year Earlier...continued...]  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
He stepped down from the stairs and into the kitchen doorway...and heard the gasp of shock, the crash of a plate shattering on the floor. His mother was leaning weakly against the kitchen cabinet, one hand pressed against her heart and the other pushing against her lips. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears.  
  
"K...Kourin?" she whispered, staring at him in shock. "Kourin...it...it can't be..."  
  
His father rose to his feet from the chair, dark eyebrows pushed angrily together. "Ryuen!" he bellowed, fists clenching at his sides. "Ryuen, take off your sister's clothes!"  
  
He stared at the man with wide eyes, drew in a deep breath. "I'm not Ryuen," he said quietly, careful to keep his voice high, light...soft, just like hers... "I'm Kourin."  
  
His father paled, thudded over to him and grabbed onto his arm. "RYUEN!" he shouted, shaking him hard. "You are NOT KOURIN! Kourin is DEAD! Do you hear me? DEAD! She DIED, and wearing her clothes won't bring her back! Go upstairs and change RIGHT NOW! I refuse to take you to the funeral dressed like this!"  
  
His mother whimpered. "You're...you're hurting him..."  
  
Carefully, the boy removed his arm from his father's grasp, took a moment to smooth the soft silk of his dress, brush at a thick ribbon of violet hair dangling in his eyes. "I'm Kourin," he repeated quietly. "I'm not dead. Ryuen...Ryuen's dead." His voice sank. "I'm Kourin."  
  
His father stared at him for a long moment, his eyes dark and thick with anger and grief...then, finally, the man turned away, stomped from the kitchen. The front door slammed behind him a few moments later, and then everything was silent. Drawing in a soft breath, he stepped more fully into the kitchen, moved to the table, and lowered himself gently into Kourin's usual chair.   
  
"Okaasan," he murmured, "could I have something to eat, please? I don't think I've eaten since yesterday."  
  
For a long moment, the woman didn't move, merely stood there staring at him, looking stricken and upset. Finally, however, she nodded, turned and tugged open the cupboard. "Is soup all right, Ryuen?"  
  
"Kourin," he corrected quietly. "Hai. Soup would be fine."  
  
He closed his eyes, then, folded his slim hands on the table top and waited. He tried his best to ignore his mother's soft weeping as she cooked...but it was difficult. At last, he stood and left the kitchen, decided to wait for his food in the living room... He paused, frowning, in the living room doorway, gazed at the single occupant of the room with narrowed, cautious eyes.   
  
"Rokou? What're you doing?"  
  
Kneeling beside a small table of candles and incense, Rokou didn't bother to glance up, worked instead on the lighting of the last of the candles... "They're for Kourin," he murmured, eyes tightly closed. He smiled, then, slightly, as the last candle--a thin, reddish cylinder of wax--burst into flame, trickled a thin line of grey smoke towards the ceiling. "This one was always her favorite. Smells like cinnamon."  
  
For a moment, he felt himself faltering, felt his elder brother's soft, gentle words and bittersweet smiles digging deeply into his heart, ressurrecting the true, hideous realities of this week...no. NO. He fought it, pushed it back, then took a long step forward into the living room, the skirts rustling lightly against his legs. "I'm not dead, Rokou," he said softly, closing his eyes briefly and forcing his tone to stay light. "Ryuen's the one who's dead...not me. But...but, he liked that candle, too...so, you can keep it lit."  
  
Rokou turned, then, gazed at him with wide, frowning blue eyes. "You're..." He shook his head, gazed at his younger brother sadly. "Ryuen, why? Why do this to yourself? She's dead--you know that. Dressing like her won't bring her back."  
  
"NO!" he exclaimed suddenly, gripping at the lining of the dress as if to hold onto it, to hold onto Kourin...hot tears stung his eyes, made him wince. "No, why does everyone keep saying that?? I'm KOURIN! I'm NOT DEAD! RYUEN'S DEAD! Stop...stop saying that he's not, because he IS! He DIED, ROKOU! DIED!"  
  
Rokou leapt to his feet, was at his side a moment later. "Ryuen," he said quietly, touching lightly at his arm, "this doesn't change anything."  
  
He brushed the touch away, took a long step back. "No," he repeated, fighting back the sudden wash of tears in his throat. "No. It changes everything...I CAN change it! I CAN!" Tears suddenly running in thick, hot streams down his cheeks, Ryuen turned, ran for the stairs, dashed up to the room he and his siblings shared...gods, what was Rokou talking about?? To say that Kourin wasn't alive...that RYUEN was the one who had survived, when it was obvious that it was HIS fault that this had happened and so of COURSE he must be dead...it was impossible! Stupid! Silly! Baka aniki...the grief must've be affecting him more than he was willing to admit...  
  
Slightly comforted by these rationalizations, he crept back into the bedroom, crossed to the other side of the room, and lay down on the flower-covered bedspread, pressed his cheek against the pillow. Rokou was just being silly...but, he'd get over it soon...and, so would his mother and father...yes... Soon, they'd realize it was RYUEN who was dead, not Kourin...soon, they'd stop being silly...stop living in denial...  
  
Yes. Soon.  
  
---  
  
Father still wouldn't let him go back to school...and it had been three weeks. Rokou had returned the week after the funeral, carrying with him some story that his younger brother was horribly ill, couldn't leave the house...he hadn't even been able to come to his sister's funeral, that was how sick he was... The elder boy told the tale as he was instructed to, shoving aside all offers for friends to come visit Ryuen at the house, pushing away even all offers to call him...no, he would reply with a slow wave of his hand, Ryuen was MUCH too sick to talk on the phone, and certainly much too sick to see anyone...oh, but they weren't to worry--he was getting the best medical attention there was, and he was expected to be well enough to return to school in another week or so, perhaps sooner...  
  
His father had sent three different psychiatrists in to talk with him already, all of whom had--after speaking with him for a short time and expressing their interest in his wardrobe, muttered something about "grief counseling" and left as quickly as possible. Ryuen leaned back on the bed, curled up into a small ball on his side. He hoped Father would get tired of this soon...it was hard enough, dealing with the loss of a brother, but now there was this to contend with? It was too much...he needed to rest. Yawning, he closed his eyes, tugged the warm blankets around his slim body and concentrated on slowing his breathing for sleep.  
  
Father and Mother had gone out for awhile, probably to find him another doctor...and, Rokou was at school, so he was alone...the house was so quiet, so peaceful...he could almost forget the traumas of the last few weeks, the violent urge to run from this crazy house and never come back...he sighed, squeezed his eyes more tightly closed. He hoped they never came back.  
  
Suddenly, he snapped from what had been a mild doze, sat up straight in the bed...what was going on? What had woken him? Something dinged, loud and harsh in his ear...ah, the doorbell. He curled back up on the bed, closed his eyes...let someone else get it...  
  
Ding-dong.  
  
Oh...oh, yeah. No one else was home...sighing, he rose from the bed, crossed the room, and swept down the stairs in a wash of silken skirts and combed, braided violet hair...the bell rang again, once more, before he reached the door, tugged it quietly open. He peered out.  
  
"Oh, God," he muttered, "not YOU." Then, abruptly, he remembered himself, remembered that he was KOURIN, not Ryuen..and offered the meatball-headed girl a soft smile. "I mean...Miaka. It's good to see you. Would you like to come in?"  
  
Miaka stared at him for a long moment with wide, startled eyes, then at last nodded, stepped past him and into the house. They stood there for a long moment, studying each other, until at last the older let out a soft breath, took a step backwards. "I was upstairs when you came...you can come up if you want. No one else is home."  
  
The girl looked troubled for a moment, then nodded again. "Oh...uh...un!"   
  
He turned towards the staircase, reaching one hand towards the banister...and paused, frowning, as a low, deep growl echoed in the entryway. Miaka blushed, clutching her stomach as if to press the sounds back inside.   
  
He smiled. "Come on. The kitchen's right in here. I'll fix you something, ne?"  
  
She said nothing, but he saw the gratitude in her eyes, the warmth in her expession and posture. What had he heard in a dream...about loving someone...?  
  
Shaking off the odd thought, he ushered Miaka into the kitchen, held out Ryuen's chair for her, and moved silently to the fridge.   
  
---  
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTE: More to come on this...and, honest, the flashback's ALMOST done. :) Gomen ne for making it so long...guess I just have a lot to say about Nuriko. :) Anyway...er...if you've gotten this far, be kind and leave me a review...I'll love you forevvvvvvvvvvver. *nod nod* *yawn* Oi, I'm tired...any incoherence in this fic is the fault of the fact that it's 4:12 AM right now. Gah. Need...sleep... *collapses* 


	9. IX: At School. Fear and Comfort.

"The Last Wish" - continued from 8  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
[the present]  
  
Nuriko stared down at his slim fingers, gently rubbing his thumbs together as if to fill the sudden silence. Finally, he glanced at the speechless girl beside him, offered a weak smile. "That day..." He trailed off, shook his head. "You have no idea what you did for me, Miaka. You...you rescued me. If not for you being there, keeping me from...keeping me from dwelling on things...I might've spent my entire life living as someone else. Kourin died, Miaka...and, it was like...like a part of me died, too. I just couldn't accept it...I didn't want to, I think. But, I did. It took a long, long time...and, you were always there, helping me out, making me...smile. I don't know if I ever thanked you for that." The smile softened, and a new warmth crept into those soft violet eyes, spread a gentle solace over those pale, smooth features. "Come on," he said at last, rising from the wall and grinning down at her. "Let's get going. I have a feeling the office is getting tired of hearing our excuses, so let's not be late today, huh?"  
  
Miaka smiled, rose to her feet, and brushed a bit of dirt from the back of her uniform. "Un," she agreed in the same soft voice. "Let's go...Nuriko."  
  
---  
  
The soft chiming of the bell, the echoing thunder of hundreds of feet pounding through the hallways, the muffled scent of chicken and gravy drifting from the cafeteria...sighing softly, Miaka let herself pause just inside the front door of the school, eyes closing lightly in bliss. It felt like it had been SO long since she'd been here...so long since she'd just been a normal teenager, nothing more important to worry about than where she was going to sit at lunch and what she was going to eat when she got there...ahhh, it felt good to be normal again. Hearing a slight sloshing sound, Miaka let her eyes slide open, just slightly, and peered out at the world through a haze of dark eyelashes. It was then that she realized the source of the sound--Nuriko was bending over the nearby water fountain, slurping contentedly...and, she noticed with a secret little smile, managing to slop a good quantity of the water onto his dress shirt. Ignoring the sudden flow of curses sliding from the violet-haired seishi's lips, she frowned slightly, let her thoughts complete themselves.  
  
For these people...she'd been gone only a few days, hadn't she? As far as they knew, she hadn't changed at all...she was the same old Miaka, that naive glutton with the meatballs on her head... For them, she was the same as always. They didn't know she'd gone into the book and met all these wonderful new people and called upon the animal god Suzaku...they had no idea. They didn't know she'd changed...they didn't know their own world had, too. With that thought, she started, drawing her lips downwards into a slight, unhappy frown.  
  
//That's right...I almost forgot. The book doesn't exist anymore. It...it never existed. I was never Suzaku no Miko at all...and, the seishi were never anything but normal high-schoolers. Feels...weird.\\  
  
She jumped, two large, blinking violet eyes abruptly materializing before her face, narrowing as the lips beneath them frowned. "Miaka? Somethin' wrong?"  
  
She stammered for a moment. "Uhhh...iie, Nuriko! Everything's just fine..."  
  
The older boy studied her for another long moment, mouth twisting slightly in something much like suspicion...then, abruptly, he shrugged, took a short step back. "If you say so." He took a few long-legged steps, leaned his back against the wall just beside her. "Ne, Miaka...you're still trying out for the musical with me this afternoon, right?"  
  
Her stomach rumbled in protest...but, she forced herself to ignore it...for Nuriko's sake, of course. "Uh...hai."  
  
Nuriko grinned. "Great. See you then, I guess...time for class..."  
  
Suddenly, inexplicably, a thick, heavy panic sliced into her, made her eyes widen, her hands begin to shake. Nuriko noticed the change, gazed at her with wide, concerned eyes. "Miaka?" he asked worriedly. "Doushita mo?"  
  
She shook her head, staring straight ahead and struggling vainly to maintain some grasp on her thoughts...but, they were circling too quickly in her mind, fed by this strange, hurtling fear...this dark, fearful urgency...gods, what was going on...? "N...Nuriko," she managed. "Nuriko...onegai...don't leave...don't leave yet..."  
  
He shook his head fervently, reached forward to take a gentle hold onto her shoulders. "Don't worry, I won't leave. Demo...demo, Miaka, you look terrible...maybe you should sit down..."  
  
Miaka could only shake her head, the shivers rippling up and down her spine, and struggle vainly to figure out just what was going on...what was happening...WHY... It felt...it felt strangely familiar, as if she'd been here before, experienced this before...but, gods, what was it? Why did she feel so...so panicked all of a sudden? So afraid? Was something...going to happen?  
  
An icy quiver of fear shot through her, made her wince. Kourin had died in this reality...what if...what if that meant that Nuriko was going to die, too? That...that all who had died in the other world... No. No, she wouldn't let that happen...it COULDN'T happen! This was her last wish! This was supposed to be a world where they could all live! Where Nuriko could celebrate his nineteenth birthday, where Chiriko could grow up, go to college...where Hotohori could see his baby born, where Mitsukake and Shoka could live and be happy...gods. Gods, this couldn't be...this couldn't be...no. No, she must be mistaken. Suzaku was a loving god, wasn't he? Yes...yes...he wouldn't do something so cruel...not to her, not to Suzaku no Miko.  
  
Not when it had been her LAST WISH. God...  
  
Suddenly, whatever it was that had held such a clawlike grip on her mind and body...abruptly let go. The strength bled out of her legs, then, and she felt herself falling, tumbling helplessly downwards...but, Nuriko caught her, lowered her gently onto the cool, polished marble of the floor. Miaka let her eyes close, forced herself to focus on breathing...and on not giving in to the hot, heavy tears pressing at the back of her throat.  
  
//No,\\ she vowed silently. //No. I won't let them die. I won't...I won't let them!\\  
  
After another long moment of breathing and thinking and praying, Miaka drew in a long, shuddering breath...and opened her eyes. Nuriko knelt on the floor just in front of her, his slim, gentle hands resting strongly on her shoulders, his eyes large and worried. "Miaka," he said quietly, peering at her as if afraid she was going to collapse. "Miaka...what happened?"  
  
"Nuriko...," she murmured. Then, suddenly, she lurched forward, wrapped her arms tightly around the violet-haired seishi's neck and hugged him close. "Nuriko," she whispered frantically. "Nuriko, please...please, don't leave me..."  
  
She felt his muscles tensing beneath her at the sudden embrace, felt his breath quicken and the soft thud of his heart beat faster...but then, after a moment, he relaxed. The tension bled from his muscles, and he wrapped his thin arms tightly around her, held her close. "I won't," he promised. His breath was soft and warm on her neck. A moment later, she felt the tingle of that thin hand smoothing down her hair, those deceptively-slim arms pulling her closer. "I won't leave you, Miaka. Not ever."  
  
Yet, even as the words of reassurance rang in her ears, even as the warmth of Nuriko's body surrounded her, soothed her...she couldn't help but frown, a sudden mist of tears springing lightly to her eyes.  
  
Because, that had been what he said last time, too...hadn't it?  
  
---  
  
  
  
*AUTHOR'S NOTE: For the record, as I have no idea at all what the Japanese school system is like, I'm writing Miaka's high school much like an American high school...which, alas, is the only thing I'm familiar with. :P So, please, no flames on THAT subject. :) As for other things...the opening sequence of this chapter, e.g., Miaka and Nuriko walking to school, was written to the intriguing background of "Low Rider." *grin* It's not my fault. :P Of course, I had to turn it off as more serious moments occurred...but, just in case you wondered...yeah. Low Rider. :P You CAN flame me over that if you want. :) ^_^.  
  
Well. Now that you're down here...you might as well review, ne? It's not harrrrrrrd, is it? Typey-typey, clicky-clicky...wow, a review! See how simple? Now, you try! *waits patiently*  
  
Arrigato. :)  
  
-Ryuen 


	10. X: Guarding the Miko. Unexpected Heart...

"The Last Wish" - continued from 9  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"NANI?! She did WHAT?"  
  
Nuriko offered a soothing smile, reaching forward to grab onto the younger man's shoulders. "Get a grip on yourself, Tama-chan," he said firmly, giving the dark-haired boy a brief shake. "She's all right now. The nurse looked at her and said she's fine. She just had some kind of panic attack or something."  
  
A rustle of fabric from just behind the two made them turn.   
  
"A panic attack?" Hotohori echoed with a slight frown.   
  
Nuriko nodded, carefully releasing Tamahome's shirt and turning to face the approaching eighteen-year-old. Although actually a few weeks younger than he himself was, Hotohori was taller, broader chested, and carried himself with the strength and grace of a crown prince rather than a normal high schooler. He was clad in the same non-descript white dress shirt and black slacks as the rest of them were...but, somehow, Hotohori managed to look positively regal even in such clothing, long chestnut hair falling in silken waves over his broad shoulders, exotic amber eyes glittering with the soft light of the morning sun.   
  
"Hai," the violet-haired boy replied, pushing aside the usual urge to run his fingers through that soft hair...just once... He shook his head slightly as if to clear it, forced himself to concentrate on what he was saying. Regaining his focus, he frowned, struggled to remember just what had been said. "She's been acting weird since last night, in fact. And, this morning..." He shook his head again, leaned his back against the locker-lined wall. "This morning, she acted like she didn't remember anything at all about...well, anything. She didn't remember she was going out with you, Tamahome...and, she didn't remember..." He trailed off, and his voice lowered slightly. "Well, about Kourin."  
  
The other two were silent for a long moment, exchanging worried glances.   
  
"Perhaps the stress of studying for her finals is getting to her," Hotohori offered after a moment.  
  
Tamahome scowled. "Or, maybe the stress of eating enough to feed a small country is finally getting to her..."  
  
Nuriko reached forward, gave Tamahome an obliging smack on the back of the head. "Whatever the case," he continued, glancing briefly around the corridor as if checking to see if anyone was listening in, "we should keep an eye on her, ne?"  
  
Tamahome nodded. "Right. Nuriko--you've got gym class with her second period, don't you?"  
  
Nuriko nodded. "Hai. Gym second, Art third, and Study Hall fourth. But, after that, I don't see her until lunch...and after that not until eighth period."  
  
Hotohori cleared his throat lightly, leaning his back against the lockers just next to Nuriko. He gazed speculatively at the cool yellow paint of the opposite hallway wall, frowned slightly as he thought. "I'll see Miaka in seventh period."  
  
"I'm in Home Ec with her fifth," added Tamahome. He gave a melodramatic sigh. "I get to be her cooking partner..."  
  
Hotohori and Nuriko made appropriate sounds of sympathy.  
  
Tamahome nodded, then, folding his arms over his chest as he continued. "But, I'll watch her then...and Nuriko, if you watch her second, third, fourth, and eighth, and Hotohori, if you watch her seventh...then, that's only first period--"  
  
"Which she's already missed half of already," Nuriko interjected.  
  
"--and sixth that we won't be with her," the dark-haired boy concluded. "That should do it, then."  
  
Hotohori frowned slightly. "What exactly do you suppose we should be watching her for?"  
  
There was silence for a moment. Realizing rather abruptly that the other two were looking to him for an answer, Nuriko coughed lightly, crossed his arms over his chest. "Anything unusual, I guess," he answered after a moment of thought. "The main thing I noticed was that she couldn't seem to remember things about the past...but, the panic attack was something...something different. I don't know. I guess just keep your eyes open for anything strange."  
  
Tamahome sighed. "With Miaka...that's not gonna be easy."  
  
---  
  
"Ne, Miaka!"  
  
The girl turned reflexively, smiled as she caught a glimpse of Nuriko fighting his way through the crowd to her side. A moment later, he'd managed to shoulder his way through the crowded breezeway and was walking beside her, the dark satchel he carried his books in hanging loosely from his fingers. The dark cloth bounced against his knees as he walked.   
  
"Ohayoo, Nuriko," she greeted pleasantly.   
  
Nuriko studied her for a moment, frowning slightly...then smiled, slung the books over one shoulder. "Ne, Miaka...feeling better?"  
  
She nodded. "Un! Much better." Her eyes glittered. "The nurse gave me something to eat."  
  
Nuriko laughed. "She doesn't still think you're bulimic then, I guess..."  
  
Miaka blinked for a moment, wondering what he was talking about...then remembered, abruptly, something that had happened just before she went into the book. "Oh, hai," she recovered, smiling. "No, she doesn't think I'm bulimic anymore. She had some girl follow me around for a few days to make sure." She grinned. "Now, she just thinks I've got problems with eating too much."  
  
The older boy blinked innocently. "Gee, I wonder why she thinks that..."  
  
They laughed...and it felt good. Miaka strolled casually through the sunny breezeway, keeping far to the left to avoid the more frantic students dashing by to their classes, and Nuriko walked just beside her, one hand slipped casually into his pocket, the other still clinging to the string of his book satchel. She glanced up at him as they moved, the smile slipping onto her face almost before she realized it. It felt good, having him here beside her again. It had been so hard, going on after Nuriko died...so hard to get up every morning without the comfort of that grinning face nearby, so hard to force herself to move onward without those strong hands supporting her...along with the other seishi, of course. She supposed she'd never realized just how much she depended on him until he was gone...until all she had left were the memories and the metal of his bracelets on her wrists. She remembered putting them on for the first time, just before they entered the cave...remembered that they were still warm with the heat of Nuriko's skin, still warm with the echoes of his last moments of life. A flicker of her earlier fear streaked into her, and she felt the smile fading, the panic building within her again...then realized, abruptly, that Nuriko had noticed her stare and was frowning down at her, looking confused and a little worried.  
  
"Miaka?" he asked quietly. "Daijobu?"  
  
She looked away hurriedly, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. "Gomen, Nuriko," she offered, staring quickly at the opposite wall, trying to avoid that soft violet gaze. "I was thinking about something."  
  
Nuriko frowned slightly, but nodded.   
  
They walked in silence for a few moments more, stepped lightly down the stairs and out of the breezeway...and then Miaka remembered something, abruptly, and turned back to Nuriko, opened her mouth and let the words spill out before she had a chance to rethink them.  
  
"Oh, Nuriko--I almost forgot. I never answered you this morning." She paused...then nodded. "I'll come with you to the cemetary today."  
  
Nuriko glanced at her in surprise...then smiled, the kind of warm, geniune smile she so closely associated with the violet-haired boy. "Oh... Arrigato, Miaka. I...I appreciate it." He grinned. "And, the musical?"  
  
Miaka grimaced, feeling her stomach rumbling at the thought of skipping lunch. "Anou..."  
  
Nuriko closed his eyes briefly, coming to a slow halt as they reached the hallway that separated the boys' locker room from the girls'. "Miaka," he said gently, "don't worry about it if you're not feeling up to it." He smiled out at her, a warm flood of sunshine from the nearby window glittering in his eyes, turning them a strange, rosy brown. "You have to take care of yourself." The smile slipped slightly, and his voice sank into a soft murmur. "I don't think I could stand it if something happened to you, too."  
  
Startled by the sudden seriousness and feeling her own worries clawing at her heart, Miaka sprang forward, hugged Nuriko quickly. "Gomen," she apologized immediately, hugging him close for a long moment. "I...I didn't mean to worry you this morning." She leaned back on her heels then, disentangled her arms from his shoulders and gave a bright smile. "I'll try out for the musical with you, Nuriko. It'll be fun." She frowned, then, waved a stern finger at the older boy. "Demo, you're taking me out to get something to eat right after school!" This said, Miaka smiled again, raised a hand in farewell, and began to walk towards the girls' locker room. "Ja, Nuriko! See you in class!"  
  
And, Nuriko could only stare after her, the lingering warmth of the embrace blazing over his skin...and struggle vainly to force his heart to stop thudding his chest. What the hell was going on? This was Miaka! He loved her, yes...but, he loved her as he'd loved Kourin--loved her as a little sister...someone to protect, watch over, comfort...but, not love like THAT. Never...  
  
Besides. He loved Hotohori...and she had Tamahome. Shaking his head slightly and shoving his hands back into his pockets, Nuriko turned and strode over to the stairwell leading down to the boys' locker room. He would just have to forget about this...forget about the strange tingles running over his skin, the odd ache in his heart. Yes. He would...forget.  
  
A wicked smile slipped over his lips. Besides...it was kickball day, and nothing cheered him up like sending that ball flying over the heads of his opponents...muwahaha. He hoped Miaka would be on the other team. There was nothing better than watching the look of dismay on her face as that ball soared over her head, as she turned and ran to try to catch it. Nope. Nothing better. Grinning and already beginning to undo the first few buttons of his dress shirt, Nuriko skipped down the last few stairs and entered the boys' locker room. A few moments later, he was clad in his typical gym class ensemble of blue and white soccer shorts and a plain white T-shirt, his thick violet hair hanging in a heavy braid down his back.   
  
After a brief glance in the mirror to ensure that all was in place, he turned, began to walk towards the door leading up to the gym...and it was only then that he remembered what Miaka had said...and he felt that same tingle work its way up his spine.  
  
//You're taking me out to get something to eat right after school!\\  
  
//You're taking me out...\\  
  
Nuriko paused at the doorway, closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool cement of the wall. Good God, what was wrong with him? Shaking his head again and forcing himself to focus on his kickball technique, Nuriko pushed open the door and climbed the steps. Soon, immersed in the glee of watching the other team scrambling over the ball, he felt the strange, unwelcome feelings slipping away...and soon was satisfied that they'd gone, that it had been nothing more than a momentary burst of...of craziness...yes. Craziness...or loneliness. Whatever the case...he couldn't afford it.  
  
Something dark clawed at his heart.   
  
Besides. Miaka didn't love him...and never would.  
  
---  
  
*Author's Note: Arrigato, everyone who left me such lovely reviews. *giggles and falls off chair* *ahem* But, anyway...in case you wondered, the "soundtrack" to the start of this installment was "The Boys Are Back In Town"--gomen, I've no idea who that song is by. :P Anyway...it seemed to fit Nuriko, Hotohori, and Tamahome for some reason...or, I could just be suffering from the effects of consuming not a drop of caffeine all day today. Yes, you heard me right. Not a drop. Shocking, eh? I thought so, too. *ahem* But, ANYWAY...leave this poor caffeine-deprived author some reviews, and then I'll drop to my knees and praise your name until I'm dragged off to some medical institution with enough sense to pump the caffeine directly into my bloodstream. SO. Fight mental illness. Leave a review. ^_^. Okay, errr...that's all. Ryuen out. :) 


	11. XI: Conversations of the Past. Running...

---  
  
"The Last Wish" - continued from 10  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"Ne, Nuriko! You were awesome!"  
  
Cheeks still flushed from the exertion of his recent kickball victory, Nuriko grinned, made a show of blowing humbly on his knuckles. "Nah, it wasn't that great," he offered, bending briefly to gather his bag from where he'd set it down on the gym floor. "After all," he continued, doing his best to look disappointed, "we only beat your team by twenty-two points. It could've been MUCH higher..."  
  
Miaka giggled. "Gee, even a little bit of praise goes to your head, doesn't it?"  
  
Nuriko smiled, reaching down briefly to push the last few of his shirt buttons into place. "You must be kidding!" he exclaimed, struggling to sound offended. He sniffed, raised his nose a few inches into the air. "I'm the humblest person I know."  
  
They stared at each other for a moment...and, then Nuriko grinned, and they began to laugh. They were still smiling a few moments later as they began to walk down the hallway, heading for third period...and it was only then that she remembered. The smile faded from her lips, and she felt something dark and cold settle in her stomach.  
  
[But, I have to tell you, Nuriko, you look great with a haircut!] [Oh, you just realized my special appeal...] [Geez, I give you a little praise and it goes to your head...] [What're you talkin' about?]  
  
//It's just like then. Just like what we talked about just before...before...\\   
  
She shivered, wrapping thin arms around herself and coming to a dead stop in the middle of the hallway. Nuriko halted just in front of her, turned and was soon frowning down at her, slim eyebrows raised in concern.  
  
"Miaka, are you all right? It's not happening again, is it?"  
  
She shook her head, moving to the side of the hallway and leaning heavily against the wall. Nuriko's hands were on her shoulders, then, that strange mix of strength and gentleness, and his eyes were wide and worried, filled with the kind of warmth and concern she'd only ever seen in Tamahome's eyes before. And, with that thought, she remembered something else...something important...  
  
[I found myself in love with Miaka as a man...]  
  
She stared up at Nuriko as if seeing him for the first time, her own eyes widening as she realized why the look in his eyes was so familiar. It was...it was love...wasn't it? God...no...no...what was going on? Kourin dying...their conversations...and, Nuriko...Nuriko loving her...God, it was going to happen again, wasn't it? Nuriko was going to die. God...he was going to die...and, if that was true...then, Hotohori...Chiriko...Mitsukake...  
  
"No," she murmured, tears filling her eyes. She dropped to her knees on the floor, pressed her face into her hands and fought against the sobs. "No...no...it's not fair. It's not fair...this was my last wish. They were supposed to...to live..."  
  
"Miaka...?!"  
  
"Nuriko, don't die," she whispered through her tears. "Please...please don't..."  
  
The hands on her shoulders tensed. Realizing just what she'd said, Miaka pulled her fingers away from her face, stared up at the older boy with wide, blurry eyes...and found that he was gazing down on her with a slight frown on his face, eyes large and tinted with the darkness of confusion. "Die?" he echoed softly after a moment. "Why...why do you think I'm going to die?"  
  
Miaka found herself unable to answer for a moment, turning her face away and looking out at the passing students...looking anywhere but into that soft, questioning gaze... Finally, however, she turned back, reached out and grabbed urgently onto Nuriko's arms. "Because!" she exclaimed, the tears stinging in her eyes. "Because, you died then! You...you died! And...and Kourin...and Chiriko and Mitsukake and...and Hotohori, too...!"  
  
Nuriko paled. "Hotohori?" Seeming abruptly, then, to realize just what he was saying, Nuriko shook his head, looked down at her with another frown of concern. "Miaka, what're you talking about? I...I died 'then?'"  
  
"In the book!" she cried, leaping to her feet and breaking free of the hands on her shoulders. "In the book! Can't you remember? Can't you remember Konan?" She lurched forward, latched onto Nuriko's wrist and dragged it up into the light. The thin, jeweled bracelet slid from the cover of his sleeve, glittered in the morning sunshine. "Don't you remember these??" she demanded. "Taiitsu-kun gave them to you! W-When you fight, they grow...th-they make you stronger...Nuriko, don't you remember?" The tears streaked in lines down her cheeks. "Don't you remember fighting Ashitare!?! DON'T YOU REMEMBER THAT YOU DIED??"  
  
Nuriko stood frozen for a long moment, staring at her with wide, startled violet eyes. The bracelet still glittered on his wrist, and Miaka's small fingers were still wrapped tightly around his arm, her nails making tiny half-moon imprints on his skin. When he finally seemed to recover enough to speak, he didn't move from where he stood except to blink. "I got these bracelets from Kourin...and from you, Miaka," he said quietly, eyes still wide with concern and a trace of fear. "Kourin came to me, in a dream...and I found the first of these in her drawer. The other one...you had it, Miaka. You said an old woman gave it to you at a bazaar...and that I should have it since I already had the other one."  
  
She drew in a sharp breath. "A...An old woman? It couldn't have been...Taiitsu-kun?" Miaka took a long step back, then, nodding and feeling a burst of hope stinging through her veins. "Hai! Taiitsu-kun! If...if everyone from the book was reborn here...then, Taiitsu-kun MUST be here somewhere! And, if she knew to give me the bracelet..." She trailed off, stared at Nuriko with wide, hopeful eyes. "If she knew to give it to me, then she must remember! Nuriko! She can help me! I have to find her!" Nearly shaking with the desperate need to get to the old woman, to make things right again, Miaka turned and began to run down the hallway, her shoes making hollow echoes against the cool marble.  
  
"Miaka!" Nuriko called after her, taking a few steps in the direction she'd gone. "Miaka! Where're you going??"  
  
Miaka didn't seem to hear him, however, and had soon vanished down an adjoining hallway. A few moments later, he heard the swish of the back door of the school being opened, followed by the hiss-thud of it slamming shut. More worried than he would care to admit and beginning to wonder if what Miaka was saying just might hold some truth after all, Nuriko stood there in silence for a long moment, debating...then, he let out an exasperated sigh, tossed his bag into the nearby shop room, and ran down the hallway after her. A moment later, he'd burst out into the warm sunshine and was racing through the parking lot after her, leaving school--and the rest of their friends--behind.  
  
---  
  
*Author's Note: Day 2 of the no-caffeine-trials begins. *cries* Thus...uh...I blame the hideous writing in this section on the lack of caffeine in my system, and hereby swear that one day, I will fix this chapter and make it sound coherent. *firm nod* Until then...adieu! -Ryuen 


	12. XII: Lunch. A Search Party Forms.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is for choopiggy, who asked for more of Tamahome and wrote me a looooooovely long email of praise and criticism. Arrigato, and here's some Tama-chan to tide you over! ^_^.  
  
---  
  
"The Last Wish" - continued from 11  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"Tamahome?"  
  
The seventeen-year-old glanced up from the tensed folds of his clasped hands, cast a hopeful glance at the approaching figure...and sighed, seeing the lines of tension and worry creasing the older boy's face. "You didn't find her," he said flatly.  
  
Hotohori shook his head, sending a wash of chestnut hair flooding over his shoulders. Drawing in a soft breath, he lowered himself regally onto the cafeteria stool beside the younger man, folded his hands on the table in front of him. "No," he admitted quietly. "There's no sign of her...Nuriko, either. Kayaki-san says neither of them have been in class since second period."  
  
Tamahome let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, pressed his face into his hands. "Damn her," he growled. "Going off like this...not telling anyone...and, after that panic attack or whatever it was this afternoon..."  
  
Hotohori studied his friend closely for a moment, then shrugged slightly. "Nuriko is with her," he said evenly. "At least she's not entirely by herself."  
  
The dark-haired boy slammed his palms down on the table, let out a frustred huff of air through his lips. "But, damn it, it should be ME out there with her! I should've been the one with her when she collapsed...I should've been the one with her when she was in trouble...but, it wasn't me. It was Nuriko..." He trailed off, spent a long moment of silence gazing dully at the far wall, brow creased in thought. "Hotohori," he said quietly after a moment. "Do you think...do you think that Miaka and...and Nuriko..."  
  
Hotohori's eyes widened, just slightly. "Miaka and Nuriko?" he echoed incredulously. "Tamahome..."  
  
The younger boy shook his head, again pressed his hands against his eyes, leaned his elbows on the table. "I know, I know. It sounds stupid...but..." He lowered his hands, shook his head. "I don't know. Something seems...different about Nuriko lately."  
  
Those amber eyes were on him, then, strong and dark beneath the shallow flourescent lights. "Nuriko would never do that to you, Tamahome," he said firmly. "You know that. And, Miaka..." He sighed softly, lowered his head. "Miaka loves you. She always has."  
  
Noticing the sudden wistfulness in the older man's voice, Tamahome drew in a short breath, struggled for a moment to find the correct words. "Hotohori," he said at last, gazing over at the man with wide, dark eyes, "about what happened at Miaka's birthday last year--"  
  
Hotohori raised a slim hand, cut the younger off before he could say anything more. "That was a long time ago, Tamahome," he murmured. "Don't apologize for it now."  
  
Tamahome blinked. "But..."  
  
"No buts." The chestnut-haired eighteen-year-old smiled, rose regally to his feet. "You can apologize after we've found Miaka and Nuriko. Until then..." He stretched down a hand, grasped onto Tamahome's thinner fingers, and pulled the boy to his feet. "Until then," he continued, "we need to focus on figuring out where they went and getting there as soon as possible. Miaka could be in danger."  
  
"Oi! Tama!"  
  
The two turned, watched as a cheery-looking Tasuki pushed and picked his way through the crowded lunchroom, a tray filled entirely with breadsticks and chocolate milk cartons balanced in his hands. When he'd reached them, he dropped the tray noisily onto the table, made a show of rubbing his hands together and sliding onto the stool.  
  
Hotohori cleared his throat. "Tasuki," he said shortly. "We're going to find Miaka."  
  
Tasuki raised an eyebrow, half of a breadstick already hanging from his lips. "Ehhhhhhhh? Goin' to find Miaka?"  
  
"Hai."  
  
The flame-haired boy seemed to spend a moment debating, glancing from his breadsticks to his friends and back to his breadsticks...then, finally, he took one last bite, shoved the lunch tray in the direction of the boy across the table, and rose to his feet. "All right!" he exclaimed. "Let's get goin'!" He paused, then, frowned slightly. "Oi...where is Miaka, anyway?"  
  
Tamahome let out a low growl...but, Hotohori answered first, casting a calming glance in the younger man's direction as he did so. "We don't know where she is," he explained quickly. "She and Nuriko have been missing since just after second period."  
  
"Ahhhhh!" Tasuki exclaimed, nodding knowingly and grinning. He took a short step forward, nudged Tamahome in the ribs with an elbow. "Hehehhhh, Tama...Miaka dumped ya for the okama, huh?"  
  
Noticing Tamahome beginning to flush a bright, angry red, Hotohori stepped between the two, let out a soft breath of air through his nostrils. "It's not like that, Tasuki," he said quietly. "We can discuss it later. Right now...we need to find Miaka."  
  
Tasuki sighed, nodded quickly. "Hai, hai...let's go, then. Oi, but Tama..." He grinned. "Don't feel too bad about bein' dumped. I bet Miaka planned it this way, anyway! Kusooooooooo! Women are so cunning!"  
  
Hotohori let out an exasperated sigh, began to walk towards the cafeteria exit. "Tasuki, please."  
  
Eye twitching just slightly, Tamahome followed, the flame-haired boy trailing just behind him. A few moments later, they were moving silently through the mostly-deserted hallways, heading for the student parking lot at the back of the school. As they moved, they heard the tinny echoes of a piano chiming from the auditorium, accompanied by the rolling melodies of a familiar bass...  
  
"Shimatta," Hotohori swore softly, looking longingly towards the auditorium door as they passed. "The musical...in all the excitement, I'd forgotten about the try-outs." He sighed, quickened his steps. "We have to find Miaka, though," he said firmly. His voice dropped. "Even though this is my last chance to showcase my talents on stage before graduation...and even though I'm the perfect choice for the starring role..." He trailed off and shook his head, a look of anguish in his eyes. "We must find Miaka first," he insisted. "Hai. She needs our help now...and, we can't forsake her for our own benefits...even if it is for the musical..."  
  
"Ne, Tama," Tasuki whispered. "Is he gonna be okay?"  
  
Tamahome nodded dully. "Hai, hai."  
  
A few moments later, they'd managed to slip into the student parking lot without being spotted, were climbing into the luxurious interior of Hotohori's red convertible.  
  
"No, no," Tamahome growled, latching onto the younger boy's arm and dragging him out of the car. "Tasuki, get in the back! I'm sitting up front."  
  
Tasuki waved a finger. "Uh-uh-uhhhh, Tama. I called it!"  
  
"Nuriko's car is missing," Hotohori interjected quietly. He closed his eyes briefly, pressed a fist into his palm. "Shimatta. This will be more difficult than I'd thought. They could be anywhere."  
  
"I GET SHOTGUN, DAMN YOU!"  
  
"No you @(#*$&$# DON'T! I CALLED IT!"  
  
Hotohori let out another exasperated sigh. "Both of you, get into the back," he commanded. Then, without waiting for a response or even bothering to glance at his two passengers, he slid regally into the driver's seat, tugged the door shut behind him, and started the car.   
  
--- 


	13. XIII: Love and Death. Found at Last.

AN: This chapter is lovingly dedicated to Purple Mouse and Kaze-chan, whom I cannot thank enough for their efforts to pull me back into that wonderful place where motivation flows, writing comes easily, and the words of all the cruel fiction professors in the world can't drag me away. Also, great thanks to Rei Ayanami for all her reviews, as well as to all those who have waited so patiently as I "got a grip on things," so to speak.   
  
AN2: This is a NEW chapter. What was previously chapter 13 still exists, but upon a bit of reflection and reading through The Last Wish in its entirety, I've decided that it would complement the story better if it appeared later. Thus. On with the story. ^_~.  
  
---  
  
The Last Wish - Chapter 13  
  
*****  
  
"Nuriko, turn right! Hayaku!"  
  
The violet-haired boy glanced at her, one slim-fingered hand resting lightly on the steering wheel. A slender eyebrow arched. "Turn?" he echoed, absentmindedly lifting his foot from the gas, letting the yellow convertible drift along, come to a slow halt just before the dusty side road. "Why?"  
  
Miaka shook her head, chewing absently on her lip. A strange, thoughtful frown had crept onto her lips, now twisted her mouth downwards, narrowed her eyes into slits. "I...I don't know," she said. Shaking her head to clear it, the girl sat a bit straighter in her seat, pointed towards the road with renewed urgency. "Demo, you have to turn here. Onegai..."  
  
Startled by the desperation in her tone, Nuriko nodded, offered a small, "Hai," and then stamped down on the gas, brought the car effortlessly around the curve. The tires bucked in response, jostling the two in their seats, but neither noticed, fully occupied by their own thoughts. After a moment of driving in silence, Nuriko reached into the glove compartment, drew out a stylish pair of sunglasses and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. His arm, he let rest on the rubbery sill of the window, the fingers dancing mindlessly in the wind. Miaka, meanwhile, was silent, staring out at the passing clumps of trees and bushes with what appeared to be rapt fascination, both arms wrapped tightly over her chest.  
  
They'd been driving down the dusty, bumpy dirt road for nearly ten minutes without passing anything but woodlands and faded signposts when, abruptly, Nuriko pressed his foot down on the break, brought them to a slow halt at the edge of the road.  
  
Miaka blinked, turned to him with wide, urgent eyes. "Nani, Nuriko? We have to hurry..."  
  
Nuriko shook his head. "No." He turned, was suddenly gripping onto her hand, his fingers warm and strong against her own. "No," he repeated softly. "Miaka...please. Tell me what's going on."  
  
She turned away, stared out the open window with anguished eyes. "Iie...I can't." Her voice sank to a whisper. "Gomen, Nuriko. I can't. You wouldn't believe me, anyway."  
  
The fingers around her own tightened, made her gasp, turn and look at him. He had slid closer to her as she looked away, now sat just beside her, his eyes bright and worried and only an inch or so away from her own. "Please," he said. He brought up the other hand to join the first, clasped the fingers of her right hand tightly between his own. "I need to know what's going on."  
  
Miaka stared at him in shock, barely able to force the breath through her lips. Her heart seemed frozen in her chest, her fingers frozen in the gentle, loving warmth of Nuriko's slim hands. She glanced down at them for a moment, saw how small they were, how slender the fingers, how well-manicured the nails. Tamahome's hands were so much larger, callused with the sores of seventeen years of athletics, and when he held onto her, she felt safe; protected. But...but, somehow... She glanced up again, let her eyes find those intelligent pools of violet; see the conflict within them, the desire and the hesitation...the love.   
  
//He...he really does love me...doesn't he?\\  
  
And, somehow, she felt safe with Nuriko as she'd never felt safe with anyone before. Tamahome loved her, yes...but, Nuriko's love was a silent love; a love that had existed for so much longer than Tamahome's...but, somehow she'd never noticed before.   
  
How long had he been loving her?   
  
Abruptly, something changed in those bright violet eyes. Nuriko pulled his hands from hers, turned away with a violent flush creeping into his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, his voice so low that she barely recognized it. "I..." He trailed off, shook his head and stared out the window. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense and rigid beneath the soft white of the dress shirt. After a few silent moments passed, he turned back, offered a weak smile. "Gomen ne, Miaka. I'm just...worried about you. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. H-Honto ni."  
  
Miaka stared down at her hands, could almost see the warmth of Nuriko's skin fading from them, trickling away as it had from... Her eyes darted up to the flash of silver clinging to his wrists, to the small jewels that rested there, glittering a soft green in the afternoon sunlight. "Ne, Nuriko," she murmured, not bothering to lift her eyes from the bracelets. "Those...those bracelets..." She drew in a long breath, let it out slowly through her nostrils and finally lifted her eyes, looked into two confused pools of violet. "Have you ever...fought anyone while you were wearing them?"  
  
Nuriko blinked, a slow frown beginning to bend at his lips. Finally, he shook his head, pulled one wrist up into the sunlight so the bracelet glittered a dull gold. "No. You know I...I stopped fighting after..." He brought the hand down into his lap, gazed at it in silence for a moment. "After Kourin died," he finished softly.  
  
"Soo ka," Miaka whispered. "So, it's...it's possible that the bracelets COULD change into--" She broke off, shook her head and reached for the door handle. A moment later, she was standing outside the car, gazing off into the distance with a look of determination fixed on her features.   
  
Nuriko frowned, vaulted easily over the door and landed in the dirt, let one hand rest against his hip. "Miaka?"  
  
She turned. Her voice was hard and commanding, barely recognizable, even in her own ears. "Come on," she said. "We're going."  
  
The violet-haired boy blinked, glanced around at the seemingly-endless flood of forest surrounding the road, the far-off glint of bright sunshine at the end of the tree-lined tunnel. "Ne," he said, taking a tentative step away from the car, "to where?"  
  
Miaka walked to his side, grabbed onto one slim hand and held it tightly in her own. "To Taiitsu-kun," she replied firmly. "I know where we are." She drew a deep breath, let it flutter slowly through parted lips. "I remember Kaasan driving this way. The bazaar is right over this hill."  
  
"The...the bazaar...?" Abruptly, comprehension flooded into Nuriko's eyes, and he frowned, gazed down at her with uncertainty in his eyes. "Demo...Miaka...just because the bazaar was here when you were ten years old doesn't mean it'll be here now."  
  
Miaka shook her head, turned and charged into the woods. "Iie!" she called over one shoulder. "Even if the bazaar isn't here, Taiitsu-kun is. She has to be!"  
  
"Miaka... Miaka! Ne, wait up!"  
  
Sighing and hoping that no potential car thieves would happen upon the yellow convertible while they were gone, Nuriko shoved the car keys into his pocket, flung his braid over one shoulder, and ran into the woods. His shoes rustled noisily against the remnants of fallen leaves, and it didn't take long for his long hair to find something to get tangled in, but somehow, he made it through, keeping as close to the speeding girl as he could without tripping over her ankles.   
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"STOP!"  
  
Hotohori stamped his foot down on the break, heard a screech from the backseat and saw a flash of red hair surge past him a moment later.   
  
The flame-haired boy scowled at him, spent a moment struggling to drag himself back into a sitting position before the emergency break jabbed any deeper into his ribs. "ITAI," he exclaimed, glaring at the eighteen-year-old as he pushed himself back into his seat. "Ne, that HURT..."  
  
Hotohori raised a slender eyebrow, eyed the younger man coolly. "Tasuki," he said sternly, "you were told to wear a seatbelt."   
  
"@#)*)@(*#$ seatbelts," Tasuki grumbled. "Only @#($*&@#$ old ladies wear @(#$*& seatbelts."  
  
"Anyway," said Tamahome impatiently, pushing open his door and stepping outside, "look." He pointed. "There. You see it? Through the trees?"  
  
Deciding to let the old ladies comment pass, the eighteen year old climbed regally from the car, turned and followed the younger man's finger. It was a moment before he could pick it out--a bright streak of yellow, just barely visible through the branches. His eyes narrowed. "Hai," he said slowly. "I suppose it could be any yellow car. But..." Hotohori frowned, crossed to Tamahome's side and spent another long moment staring down through the trees. "But, it certainly LOOKS like a convertible."  
  
Tasuki, by this time, had finished cursing and had dragged himself from the car, now came up behind the two and placed his hands on their shoulders. "Ne, Tama," he said loudly, "what we lookin' at?"  
  
Hotohori shook his head, gave the flame-haired seventeen-year-old a stern glance. "Quiet," he said. "This may not be good. If they've left the car..." He shook his head again. "They could be anywhere. Come on. Let's go. We may be able to find some trace of them once we get to the car."  
  
Tasuki raised an eyebrow. "Car?" He leaned forward, peered down through the trees. "What, that yellow thing way down there?"  
  
Hotohori sighed, began to follow Tamahome down the grassy hill towards the woods. "Come on, Tasuki."   
  
---  
  
Miaka came to an unsteady halt at the edge of the lot, stared at it with the hopelessness creeping back into her heart.  
  
"There's...there's nothing here," she whispered.  
  
Nuriko came up behind her, breathing heavily from the frantic run through the forest, and rested his hands on her shoulders, stared at the lot in silence. The pavement was faded and cracked, wild patches of grass and small bushes already squeezing up through the breaks, reaching with browning leaves for the sky. Occasional spots of flattened grass marked where the tents had once stood, and every now and then, the eye would catch onto a glimmer of metal or a sparkle of glass among the pavement and foliage...but other than that, the lot was empty, dead, and lifeless.  
  
She tried not to cry. She tried so hard...but, the tears came anyway, stinging her eyes, flooding down her cheeks in hot, salty streams. "No," she managed, her words low and shaky beneath the hampered sobs. "No, it's not supposed to be like this. It's...it's supposed to be here...SHE'S supposed to be here..." She turned, suddenly, hands partially obscuring her face, and fell against Nuriko's chest, gave into the sobs and began to cry in earnest. "It's not fair!" she sobbed. "She has to be here! She has to...she has to be..."  
  
Nuriko held her tightly, his arms thin and warm and strong, his heartbeat a gentle, lulling rhythm in her ears. "It'll be all right," he murmured. The fingers of his right hand lifted from her back, smoothed the hair gently back from her face. "It'll be all right, Miaka. I swear it."  
  
The tears shook her small frame, made her snuggle closer to the older boy, nestle her head beneath his chin. "It's not fair," she whimpered. "I-I don't know what else I can do to...to stop it from happening to you, too."  
  
Nuriko pulled her up from his embrace, held gently onto her shoulders. "Stop what from happening to me, Miaka?"   
  
She closed her eyes, shook her head and pressed her palms to her face. "Nothing," she whispered. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."  
  
"Miaka...Miaka." Nuriko's fingers latched onto her hands, pulled them from her eyes until she had to meet his gaze, see those bright violet eyes boring into her own...boring into her soul. "Miaka," Nuriko said quietly. "Is this about what you said before? About...about me...dying?"  
  
Miaka could only nod, the tears pooling in her eyes.   
  
"Miaka, I'm not going to die. I...I don't know what makes you think I'm going to, but...but, I'm not." Nuriko's lips lifted into a soft, bittersweet smile. "And, even if I did...you'd still have Tamahome, Hotohori--other people who love you. You'd be all right."  
  
"O-Other people who..."   
  
Nuriko took a short step backwards, shrugged a bit awkwardly. "Hai," he said quickly. "L-Like Tasuki, Chichiri, Chiriko... We all love you."  
  
But...no. She'd heard it in his voice, heard the subtle distinction; what he'd really, really meant...what she'd suspected. Gods. It was just like last time, just like that time in Hokkan, right before...  
  
"No," Miaka said quietly. Her voice was harder than she meant it to be, the words sharper than she intended...but she couldn't stop them from coming. "No. You...you didn't mean that kind of love the first time...did you? Ne, Nuriko? You meant...you meant..."  
  
A look of blank terror flitted over those slim features, was quickly hidden beneath a wide, forced smile. "Ne, what're you talking about? I-I...I didn't mean--"  
  
"MIAAAAKA! MIAKA!"  
  
The voice cut through his words, was soon punctuated by the rustle of leaves and the thud of many feet. A moment later, three familiar figures burst out from the nearby forest, began to run towards them.  
  
Miaka blinked, eyes going wide in startled confusion. "T-Tamahome? Hotohori? Tasuki? Why..."  
  
"Miaka!" Tamahome exclaimed. A moment later, he'd crossed the distance between them, brushed past Nuriko, and grabbed the girl into his embrace. He clung to her tightly, his breath coming in harsh, angry gasps. "Bakayarou!" he managed, pulling her closer and pressing his cheek against her own. "Never do that again. I was so worried..."  
  
Nuriko crept forward, tapped the younger man gently on the shoulder. "Ne, Tama-chan," he said a bit dryly, "she probably needs to breathe."  
  
Miaka stared at the violet-haired boy from over Tamahome's shoulder, tried to find the words to apologize...but, Tamahome was holding her tightly, his distinctive smell surrounding her, enwrapping her in warmth and safety and love...and, no words would come. But, for an instant, her eyes met Nuriko's, and the pain she saw in them was almost unbearable.  
  
//This is what Nuriko feels,\\ she realized, squeezing her eyes closed against that anguish; that longing. //I hurt him...maybe I've been hurting him all along.\\  
  
"Come on," Tamahome said, releasing her but keeping one arm protectively around her shoulder, his eyes dark and teary in the sunlight. "Let's get back to school."  
  
Hotohori glanced at his watch, shook his head slightly. "Iie, Tamahome. We won't make it back in time."  
  
"Fine," the younger man said, "then let's get Miaka back to her house. But, let's not stay here. Miaka, why did you come here, anyway? Why didn't you tell me? I thought something happened to you, or that you and--" He broke off, glanced a bit guiltily away from Nuriko. "I thought something happened to you," he repeated.  
  
"Nehehehehe," Tasuki cackled, taking a long step foward and clapping Tamahome on the back. "Don't listen to him, Miaka. He @#$(@#$(*& thought you and Nuriko had some kinda love affair or something! @@#$*&$ Nuriko...nehehehehehe!"  
  
Nuriko flushed, looked away. "I'll go get the car," he mumbled.  
  
Tasuki stopped short, eyes widening at the reaction. "Ne, Nuriko...it was just a joke..."  
  
The older boy spun on his heel, offered a wide smile that never came close to reaching his eyes. "I know, Tasuki. My parents need the car by four, though. Get Miaka home safe, ne?" He didn't wait for a response, instead turned, hurried into the woods and soon had vanished from sight, nothing but the rhythmic crunch of leaves to give any sign that he'd ever been there at all.  
  
Miaka broke free of Tamahome's arm, took a few tentative steps towards the woods. "N...Nuriko..."  
  
"Miaka?" Tamahome was behind her, then, his hands resting strongly on her shoulders. "Miaka, what's going on?"  
  
//His eyes looked...so sad...\\  
  
Miaka sighed, turned and offered a small smile. "Nothing, Tamahome. Let's go...ne?"  
  
--- 


	14. XIV: Unlikely Comforter. Racing Towards...

The Last Wish - Chapter 14  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
He was still shaking as he pulled open the door, slid into the leathery seat and tugged the door closed behind him.   
  
//He @#$(@#$(*& thought you and Nuriko had some kinda love affair or something...\\  
  
Nuriko slumped forward in the seat, collapsed onto the steering wheel and tried to force back the tears. How had this happened? He'd never been supposed to love Miaka, not like THIS...and, yet now, every moment he was with her, every instant he heard her voice or touched her hand or so much as caught a whiff of her hair...  
  
"I love her," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, holding in the tears. Some leaked out, trickled weakly over his cheeks. "Damn it, how did this happen..."  
  
Warm, strong hands touched his shoulders, and he jumped, sprang up from the steering wheel with wide, shocked eyes. "H-Hotohori," he managed, brushing quickly at the tears. "W-What're you..."  
  
Hotohori gazed down at him with soft, compassionate amber eyes, walked around to the passenger's side and tugged open the door. "Do you mind if I sit down?"  
  
Nuriko shook his head, wiped again at his eyes. "No, go ahead..."  
  
"Thank you." The eighteen-year-old slid into the passenger's seat with typical grace, tugged the door closed and folded his hands in his lap.   
  
Nuriko drew in a deep breath, shoved the grief and the sorrow into the deepest parts of his heart. To be felt later...  
  
"No," Hotohori said quietly.  
  
The violet-haired boy blinked, glanced at the younger man with a slight frown twisting his lips. "No?" he echoed. His voice was still a bit husky, his eyes still puffy and reddened from the tears. Still hoping vainly that perhaps Hotohori would fail to notice that he'd been crying, Nuriko cleared his throat, wiped again at his eyes...and froze, shocked, as the younger man reached out, latched onto his hand and held it in place.  
  
He shook his head, uncomprehending, but didn't pull away. "H-Hotohori..."  
  
Amber eyes stared into him, bored into the very deepest parts of his heart, his mind--his soul. He wanted so badly to look away, to keep himself from being explored like this...but, he was frozen; trapped in a moment of conflict and contrasting needs.  
  
Need to hide...need to be found...  
  
"Don't do this," Hotohori insisted. His fingers were large and warm, easily enwrapping Nuriko's smaller, slimmer hand, his skin just as smooth and silken as it had been in his dreams. "Don't hide this away like I've seen you hide everything else away. Don't push this away, Nuriko."  
  
The answer came to his lips automatically; a survivor's instinct. "Push what away?"  
  
Hotohori released his hand, sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. A slight wind whispered through the trees that surrounded them, rustled leaves even as it lifted the silken strands of chestnut from those broad, muscular shoulders, sent the hairs tickling over the eighteen-year-old's cheek. Despite his newfound feelings for Miaka, Nuriko's first wild, dreamlike instinct was to reach out, sweep the hair back to where it belonged...but, he didn't. Instead, he sat there, leaned his head back against the cool leather of the seat, and stared up at the leafy canopy above. The sunlight trickled in through the breaks, swept a golden wash of warmth and light over the convertible and its two inhabitants, but even that beauty seemed pale on such a dark, sorrowful day.  
  
It was a few moments before either spoke.  
  
"I'm sorry," Nuriko said at last. His eyes were closed, his words barely a whisper; barely louder than the oceanlike rhythm of the leaves, rustling in the wind. "I...I know you're just trying to help. But..." No. He could feel the tears coming again, trickling their way up through the breaks in his heart. The sobs lay heavily in the back of his throat, begging for escape; begging to be heard...  
  
But...but, to cry, here, in front of Hotohori--to let him see the weakness, the lack of control...the pain. How could he do that? How could he let himself show such a thing to anyone, let alone the one person he'd spent so much of his life adoring?  
  
Something changed even before his thoughts had the chance to complete themselves. His eyes snapped open; the breath surged into his lungs. What...what...  
  
"It's all right," Hotohori murmured. He'd slid over in the seat, now sat just beside the smaller man, one strong arm wrapped gently around slim, violet-streaked shoulders. After only an instant's pause, Hotohori moved closer, pulled Nuriko to his side; pulled him so close that the violet-haired boy could feel the warmth of breath against his cheek, the strength of muscled arms surrounding him.   
  
The tears clawed at him again, begged for attention...and, this time, he knew that he was going to give in.  
  
No one had held him like this since he was a child, long before Kourin's death, long before Miaka; long before even Hotohori had entered his life. He remembered waking from horrible nightmares of death and blood and cold, and having his father rush to his side, hold him like this until he fell asleep...until the tears dried from his cheeks, and he could pass into dreams unafraid. He'd always felt so safe there, sheltered in the strength of his father's arms; protected from the world and all its pain. It had seemed like...like maybe, somehow, everything WOULD be all right; like maybe he didn't have to hold everything on his own shoulders...like maybe there was someone else there along with him, looking out for him; making sure he would be all right.  
  
"Go on," Hotohori whispered. His breath was warm and sweet against Nuriko's cheek, his presence a great golden light against the darkness. "It's all right."  
  
He hesitated for one long, drawn out moment...and, then, Nuriko turned, collapsed against Hotohori's chest, and began to cry. The tears swept down his cheeks in streams of anguish and grief and release, staining the younger man's dress shirt a dark, tearful grey, shaking the strong, muscled arms that held him. He didn't know how long he lay there, crying into Hotohori's chest, feeling the protective arms around him...but, eventually, the tears began to subside, the sobs began to slow, and gradually, the grief began to lift from his heart. It didn't leave, but then, he hadn't expected it to, and nor would he expect it to for a very, very long time. But for now, with the strong arms around him and the tears still staining his cheeks, the grief had sunk to the lowest areas of his consciousness, beaten and fragmented. It would bide its time, he knew, waiting and recovering, gaining strength...and, then, the next time he showed the slightest bit of weakness or break in defenses, the grief would return, shuddering through his small frame with the wrath of sorrow and anguish on its side. But for now, at least, it had gone.  
  
Breathing softly, Nuriko lay still and quiet in Hotohori's arms, listened to the comforting thud of the younger man's heartbeat in his ears. Despite the fact that the tears had passed, Hotohori didn't lift his arms, and neither did he open his mouth, try to ask about just what was causing such grief. Instead, he merely sat there, strong and solid and real, and let the older boy be held.  
  
Time stretched.  
  
At last, Nuriko lifted his head, brushed the streaks of tear-stained violet from his face, and sank back into his own seat. A rush of cool air swept immediately over his flesh, cooled the tears on his cheeks; sent a wash of lightly-fragranced air surging into his lungs, cleansing the sorrow even more fully from within him.  
  
Hotohori gave the older boy a few moments to collect himself, then straightened in his seat, cleared his throat lightly. "Would you like me to drive?"  
  
Nuriko glanced at him in surprise, raised an eyebrow. "What about your car?"  
  
The younger man flushed, offered a sheepish smile. "I'll most likely regret it," he began hesitantly, "but, I let Tamahome drive Miaka home in it."  
  
Nuriko's eyes widened. "H-Honto? Naaa, Hotohori, I didn't know you trusted him that much. And--" A slight grin tugged at his lips. "--Tasuki, too..."  
  
Hotohori blanched. "Tasuki. I-I hadn't thought of that..."  
  
Nuriko grinned, some of the old sunshine washing over his features. "Daijobu, daijobu." He reached into his front pocket, pulled out a handful of keys, and deftly inserted the correct one into the ignition. He turned, winked. "Buckle up, ne, Hotohori?"  
  
Blinking at the sudden change, Hotohori nonetheless managed to sputter out a short, "H-Hai," then took the seatbelt between his fingers, tugged it down over his chest and waist, and fastened it.  
  
Nuriko grinned, fastened his own seatbelt, and started the convertible. A moment later, it was soaring down the road at just above the speed limit, sweeping violet and chestnut hair back into the wind until it swirled into each other; joined. Nuriko smiled, shifted into fourth, and sent them rocketing forward over an ocean of smooth, rolling pavement.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Tasuki wasn't stupid. Something was going on, and even though he didn't think it had anything to do with Nuriko and Miaka actually HAVING some sort of love affair, he was beginning to think that maybe it at least had something to do with someone THINKING they were. The flame-haired high schooler leaned forward in his seat, glanced again at the other two occupants of the car with dark, narrowed eyes. Tamahome was sitting a bit rigidly in the driver's seat, steering with one white-knuckled hand while the other rested limply in his lap. Miaka, meanwhile, sat as far away from her teal-haired boyfriend as possible, leaning her forehead against the window and staring out at the passing scenery.  
  
Tasuki frowned, leaned back and pressed his shoulder blades to the seat. All right, so something was wrong. And, it must have something to do with Nuriko, or why else would he have left so suddenly? The frown deepened. But, how did Hotohori fit into all this? He'd run after Nuriko almost immediately, and he'd looked like he understood, somehow, what was going on, even though no one had said anything at all about just what that was. Was there some big secret they were all hiding from him?  
  
The seventeen-year-old scratched his head, folded thin arms over his chest. "Ne, Tama," he began, careful not to let too much confusion seep into his voice. "Do ya think...do ya think that Nuriko an' Hotohori--"  
  
He stopped, frowning, as the sound of honking echoed from behind them, loud and grating against the already tense atmosphere. Neither Miaka nor Tamahome moved as the sound continued, however, and so after a moment, Tasuki reached forward, tapped the boy on the shoulder and frowned.   
  
"They prob'ley want you to @($*& go faster," he offered, raising a knowing eyebrow.   
  
Tamahome shrugged slightly. "I'm in the slow lane. They could always--"  
  
The car behind them honked again, cutting through the words, but then there was a flash of yellow, a blurred but familiar shape beside them. Miaka suddenly sat up very straight in her seat, grabbed for the handle and rolled down her window.   
  
"Nuriko! Hotohori!"  
  
"Speak o' the devils," Tasuki muttered.  
  
Nuriko glanced away from the road for a second, grinned and waved a hand. "Hey, Miaka!" he greeted. The light was back in his eyes, the laughing beauty back to his features. Miaka smiled.  
  
"Tamahome," Hotohori called, turned slightly in his seat to face the other car, "pull over! I want my car back!"  
  
Slowly, an evil, devilish smile worked its way onto Tamahome's lips. "You want your car back," he echoed slowly.  
  
"Hai! Pull over!"  
  
The smile widened. "You first!"  
  
Hotohori glanced at Nuriko, but the violet-haired boy shook his head, stepped a bit more firmly on the gas and sent the yellow convertible a few inches ahead of the navy blue BMW. "After you, Tama-chan!"  
  
Tamahome grinned. "Miaka's house!" he shouted. "Side roads only."  
  
Nuriko matched the grin, rested his hand on the gearshift, and nodded. "You're on."  
  
After only an instant of gazing across the distance between the two cars, sizing each other up, both drivers stamped on the gas, and the two cars surged forward. Nuriko hung back for a short while, letting Tamahome gain almost a car-length of distance on him...and then, just as the younger boy seemed about to shift into the fast lane in front of him, Nuriko stepped hard on the gas, brought the convertible up past the BMW with a surprising burst of speed. As such, he reached the exit first, slowed to a respectable speed, and easily made it around the curved off-ramp before coming to a halt at the edge of Semple street. Tamahome followed a moment later, but by the time he'd reached Semple, Nuriko had already pulled off and was rocketing through traffic, heading for one of the many side roads that would lead to Miaka's family's home.  
  
Tasuki let out a cackle from the backseat, secretly glad that all the ill feelings had seemingly been forgotten in yet another of Nuriko's and Tamahome's races. "Whatcha gonna do now, Tama?" he called, grinning widely and leaning forward to get a glimpse of the boy's expression. "Let the okama beatcha? Hehehe!"  
  
In response, Tamahome switched his turn signal from right to left, sized up the traffic heading towards him, and then sped out onto the road, driving in the opposite direction as Nuriko and Hotohori seemed to be going. "He trying to trick me," Tamahome said after a moment, grinning tightly as he turned a curve onto a bumpy side road. "This way's faster, and he knows it. He was trying to make me follow him, but then he was gonna turn around and head back this way." The grin widened. "But, it's not gonna work."  
  
Miaka giggled. "Actually, Tamahome..." She pointed, but Tamahome had already seen it.  
  
"Aaagh, damn it, not again!"  
  
Tasuki leaned forward again, stared at the yellow convertible far in front of them with widened eyes. "How'd he do that?" he squeaked.  
  
Tamahome let out a low growl. "While I was at the stop sign, he turned down a side road--"  
  
"And, then cut up in front of you and came out up there," Tasuki finished. "Hehehehe, I never woulda thought it, but he's @#*$(& good at this!"  
  
Tamahome growled again.  
  
---  
  
By the time they pulled in Miaka's driveway, far ahead of Tamahome and the BMW, Hotohori was staring at him in shock, something like admiration shining in his eyes. "Sugoi," the younger man murmured, astonishment clear in his tone. "I never knew you could drive like that."  
  
Nuriko smiled slightly, but his voice was almost solemn. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Hotohori."  
  
The younger man turned, stared at Nuriko as if seeing him for the first time. "You hide it all very well," he said quietly. "You're always smiling, always laughing...I never knew until today."  
  
"Knew what?"  
  
Hotohori smiled slightly, faced front and closed his eyes. "That we were the same."  
  
--- 


	15. XV: The Last Smile. A Dark Fate.

The Last Wish - 15  
  
~*~  
  
Nuriko smiled. "Maybe we should start a club, ne, Hotohori?"  
  
Amber eyes flickered to him in surprise, and one slim eyebrow lifted. "A club?"  
  
They'd climbed out the convertible, were leaning side-by-side against the driver's side door to wait for Tamahome, Miaka, and Tasuki. Nuriko shrugged, folded slim arms over his chest. "Sure. We'll call ourselves...LOA."  
  
Slim lips bent into a slight smile. "LOA?"  
  
"Uh-huh. 'Lovers of Overeaters Anonymous."  
  
Hotohori laughed, a chime of gold through the clouds of the day. "Should Tamahome be a part of this club, too?"  
  
"Tama-chan? Nah, he's not really 'anonymous.'" He grinned. "Besides. You know he'd want to be president."  
  
A soft smile. "I see your point."   
  
There was a brief, companionable silence. Then...  
  
"Ne, Hotohori?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Thank you for...for being there--" He blushed, looked away. "--when no one else was. I really appreciate it."  
  
The younger man smiled, opened his mouth to reply--and broke off at the screech of wheels and the angry slam of a car door.  
  
"Damn it, Nuriko!" Tamahome shouted, stalking over from the BMW with Tasuki cackling just behind him. Miaka moved a little more slowly, hands clasped in front of her as she walked. Nuriko frowned at her for an instant, wondering if the uncharacteristic silence might mean she was angry over what had happened at the empty lot...but, then she smiled, and he knew that, somehow, it was all right.  
  
The violet-haired boy grinned, offered Tamahome an evil wink. "What was it you said last time you lost, Tama-chan? Something about, 'you only win because you have a nicer car,' and 'if only I had Hotohori's BMW, I could beat you.' Something like that, wasn't it, Tama-chaaaaan?"  
  
A low growl worked its way from Tamahome's throat.   
  
Miaka giggled--a welcome sound after all that had been going on with her lately. "Let's go inside," she said, cheeks rosy with laughter. "It's close enough to dinner time to eat, ne?"  
  
Grinning, giggling, wanting to eat... Nuriko smiled. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Miaka."  
  
A cloud seemed to pass over Miaka's face at the words, as if from some dark memory--but, it cleared remarkably quickly, flickered away beneath the touch of afternoon sunshine and a warm, fragrant breeze. "Un," she said. "But, I'll feel a LOT better after I've eaten!"  
  
They trouped over the walk and up the front steps, and for a few minutes, everything was all right.  
  
~*~  
  
Keisuke was waiting for her just inside the door.   
  
He looked distracted, eyes flickering blankly from one spot on the wall to the other, fingers kneading together in front of him. He barely seemed to notice the door swinging open, or the entrance of Miaka, Tamahome, Hotohori, Tasuki, and Nuriko a moment later.  
  
The group stopped dead in the entryway, the uncanny feeling of Something-Is-Wrong washing over them all at nearly the same instant. Suddenly afraid without quite knowing why, Miaka took a hesitant step forward, touched a finger to her brother's shoulder.  
  
"O...Oniichan?"  
  
Keisuke's eyes lost the blank stare, flickered to her face. Now that he turned to her, she could see that his eyes were red and bloodshot as if from crying, and that he seemed somehow to have aged since the last time she saw him. Her hands began to shake. "O-Oniichan, what is it?" Her voice was low and wavering, and the beat of her heart was thunder in her ears. Thum-thum. "What's wrong?" Thum-thum. Thum-thum. "Did something happen?"  
  
Keisuke's voice was unnaturally soft. "Miaka, come into the living room with me. I need to talk to you for a minute."  
  
Thum-thum. Thum-thum. Thum-thum.   
  
From behind her, there came the thud of boots on linoleum, and a moment later, the familiar strength of Tamahome's hand was on her shoulder. She glanced up at him, found his face drawn and tense, and nodded. Whatever it was, Tamahome would be with her when she heard it. Yes. Yes, with his strength...she could survive it. Whatever it was.  
  
"No," Keisuke said suddenly. "Just...just you, Miaka."  
  
Her heart surged up into her throat, tried to flee the pain it knew was coming. Thum-thum-thum-thum-thum-thum! A scream in her chest.   
  
Silently, she followed Keisuke through the entryway, through the kitchen, into the living room, over to the sofa. The cushions were warm and comfortable, her favorite place to relax, read, watch TV, eat. A normal place. A place where she was safe, where bad things didn't happen.   
  
Keisuke spoke with a voice so low that she had to lean forward to hear him.   
  
---  
  
It was silent for a long time.   
  
"I don't like this," Nuriko said in a low voice.   
  
Beside him, Hotohori shook his head. "Neither do I."  
  
Tasuki spoke, then, his voice too loud and too high. "I don't see what you guys are @#(*&#$ worryin' about. It's prob'ley nothin'."  
  
The flame-haired boy sat just beside Hotohori, leaning against the wall with knees drawn to his chest. Nuriko glanced down at him as he spoke, felt a familiar shudder of fear trickle up his spine. No. No, this was not 'nothing.' This was something. A big something.  
  
Hotohori shook his head. "I doubt it's nothing, Tasuki."  
  
"C'mon, Keisuke's a @#($*&#@$ crybaby sometimes." He shifted a little uncomfortably, cleared his throat. "I'm tellin' ya, it's nothin'."  
  
"No," Tamahome murmured. "Something happened." His voice hardened. "And, whatever it is, we have to help Miaka through it. She's not as strong as she pretends she is."  
  
Nuriko glanced at him. "No," he said softly, surprised to find the his true thoughts rising to his lips. "She's stronger. Stronger than any of us, I think."  
  
Tamahome opened his mouth to reply--  
  
And froze as the sound of footsteps met their ears. They were coming from the kitchen, moving slowly and unevenly, as if their owner were stumbling along drunkenly. They all stared at the doorway with wide, fearful eyes, and Nuriko felt the lump return to his throat, felt his heart start pounding in his chest. As if in a trance, Tasuki rose to his feet, arms hanging limply at his sides, eyes fixed on the door.  
  
Seconds passed. A clock was ticking somewhere nearby, loud as a scream in the silence--tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock. Outside, birds twittered, cars rumbled down the road, and a neighbor dog yapped enthusiastically. The footsteps drew nearer.  
  
Tick. Tock. Twitter. Rumble. Yap yap. Tick.  
  
Finally, Miaka appeared in the doorway, looking thin and haggard in the fading sunlight of the afternoon. Tears clung to her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy, her hands shaking balls at her sides. She moved as if every step pained her--no, as if every breath pained her. It was a long time before she shuffled her way to Tamahome, gripped his larger hand in her smaller one.  
  
Her voice was low and broken, barely audible. "There was...an accident," she whispered. "This afternoon. While we were in school. It was...it was a drunk driver. A-A boy from school--" A flood of tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, trickled over her cheeks. "A boy from school was driving. He-he lost control of his car. He was going...really fast. He hit...he hit..." She broke off as if the words wouldn't form, closed her eyes and shook her head. "Tamahome," she wept. Her breath came fast. "Tamahome...Tamahome...your...your family..."  
  
Tamahome went rigid. "My..."  
  
"The paramedics," Miaka whispered. "Chue gave them my number, because...b-because he thought you'd be here. Keisuke answered, a-and they told him...th-they told him that..." Miaka fell into Tamahome's arms with a great sob, wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. "I'm sorry, Tamahome," she cried. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry..."  
  
Tamahome's eyes were wide and stricken, his body tense beneath her arms. "Where are they?" he demanded. "What hospital?"  
  
"It happened...so fast," Miaka went on. "There wasn't a...a lot of pain."  
  
Tamahome disentangled himself from Miaka's arms almost violently, took a shaky step backwards. Hotohori latched onto his shoulder as he stopped, trying to steady him, but Tamahome shrugged off the hand, retreated to the door. "What hospital?" he whispered.  
  
The words seeped from Miaka's lips as if out of her control. "Mercy. Downtown."  
  
Nuriko stepped forward. "I'll drive you." He took Tamahome's arm gently in his fingers, pulled the door open with his free hand. A cool wash of air swept in from outside, brushed at the hot tears trickling over the younger boy's cheeks.  
  
"Nuriko." It was Hotohori. He'd moved to Miaka's side, was holding onto her, letting her weep softly into his shirt. "We'll meet you there."  
  
Nuriko glanced over his shoulder, gave Hotohori a brief nod, and then turned, led Tamahome out into the fading daylight. The door clicked softly shut behind them, followed a few moments later by the click-roar of the convertible starting.  
  
"No," Miaka murmured. Her voice was soaked with tears, her words muffled and lost in Hotohori's shirt. "No, Nuriko," she whispered. "Don't go..."  
  
--- 


	16. XVI: The Waiting Room.

---  
  
The Last Wish - 16  
  
~*~  
  
Nuriko let out a heavy breath, leaned back in the creaky waiting room chair and closed his eyes. Ghosts of bloodied images floated through his mind, visions of Chuei and Shunkei, lying still and cold beneath leathery sheets, of Tamahome's father--he'd been teaching kindergarten for years; Nuriko himself had memories of him from long ago, going on about letters and numbers and telling stories that made his heart leap into his chest. But, even those memories were forever overshadowed by that one horrifying glimpse of him an hour (or was it a lifetime?) ago, bloodied almost beyond recongition, barely resembling the smiling, sometimes-sickly man who'd made the Sou household a place of happiness and warmth. The house would always be cold and lifeless, now, Nuriko found himself thinking darkly. No matter who lived there, no matter how much joy they had, it would always be deadened by the loss of that man.  
  
And, God...God, Gyokuran; the one member of the family he'd never bothered to get to know very well. She was always out of the house when he visited, involved in so many activities that Tamahome used to joke about having to set up an appointment to call her for dinner. She was gone, too, killed at the moment of impact, Mitsukake'd said.   
  
And...Yuiren. Yuiren, who'd been clinging to life for so long that it made him feel sick. Yuiren, who--despite internal bleeding, despite a punctured lung, despite a concussion so violent that the doctors were amazed she'd lived through it--had held on long past expectations, long past what all medical science could foretell. The doctors hadn't been able to understand it, but Nuriko had immediately. She'd been holding on for one reason and one reason only, and that was to see her brother one last time. Nuriko squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, pressing his fingers over the lids and trying to wish away the images--the memories. Yuiren was not Kourin, but, God, when he'd stood there in the doorway and looked into that tiny, stuffy little room, when he'd heard Tamahome talking to her in that high voice, struggling not to cry...it'd made it all come flooding back. Kourin, lying stilled and bloodied on the grass, lost forever...forever...  
  
Something touched his shoulder.   
  
Nuriko drew in a sharp breath, sat up and broke from the memories with all the strength he could muster.   
  
//No,\\ he insisted silently. //No. It's over. This is not Kourin. Those wounds healed a long time ago.\\  
  
He opened his eyes, found Hotohori standing over him, one strong hand on his shoulder. "Hi," he murmured. His lips felt dry, still stung from the salt of earlier tears.   
  
Hotohori was frowning down at him, beautiful even with the darkness that lingered above his cheekbones, the slight puffiness that rounded his eyes. "Are you all right, Nuriko?"  
  
With some effort, he nodded, brought a hand to his forehead as if to rub away the crease of anguish between his eyebrows. "Hai, I'm fine," he said. His words were unnaturally soft, he knew, but in this place, with the weight of the last hour pushing on his mind, he couldn't seem to find the strength to speak any louder. He glanced at Hotohori, who was now lowering himself into a nearby chair, and suddenly realized something. "Where's Miaka? And, Tasuki?"  
  
It was a moment before he answered. "Miaka's with Tamahome, filling out...the forms," he said quietly. "Tasuki didn't want to come. He's at Miaka's house with Keisuke."  
  
Nuriko sighed. "I can't blame him. I'm going to be having nightmares about this for years."  
  
A twinge of anguish flickered onto Hotohori's face. "I can only imagine what Tamahome must be going through. It must be killing him."  
  
"Take it from one who knows," Nuriko said softly. "It's not something I'd wish on anyone, especially not Tamahome."  
  
The younger man winced. "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten. Your sister. This must be hard for you."  
  
Slender shoulder slifted into a slight shrug. "I'll survive." Abruptly, something like a shadow fell over his face. "Speaking of which, have you heard about the other boy?"  
  
"The other... You mean, the driver of the other car?"  
  
"Yes. I don't know if you caught it before, but he goes to our school. He's Miaka's age."  
  
"Was he killed?"  
  
Nuriko shook his head, something black and angry flickering in his eyes. "No. He didn't have a scratch on him. At least...he didn't until he got to the hospital."  
  
Hotohori frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
Nuriko's voice was thin and low, as if he were speaking from a far distance, perhaps from within the past. "The doctors had him in here to check for internal injuries. They'd just finished the tests when we got in. We ran into him in the hall, a-and...Suboshi wasn't all that...respectful."  
  
"Suboshi?" Hotohori exclaimed. "Isn't he--"  
  
"The kid who tried to pick a fight with Tamahome a few weeks ago? Yeah."  
  
Hotohori's eyes were wide. "What happened?"  
  
"Tamahome jumped at him," he said, very quietly. "I think he would've killed him, right there, if he could have. I...I had to hold him back. Even so, he bruised two of Suboshi's ribs and broke his nose. The doctors weren't all that pleased, but Mitsukake talked them out of having Tamahome thrown out. Under the circumstances, after all..." He trailed off, sighed. "I hope Miaka can do something for him, Hotohori, I really do. I've never seen him like this before."  
  
Hotohori said nothing, his lips pressed into a tight, worried line.   
  
They waited for almost an hour before Tamahome and Miaka finally emerged, a sorrowful Mitsukake on their heels, and by then, the tears were just beginning to dry on their cheeks.  
  
Miaka was clinging to her boyfriend's arm, still looking a little shaky, but with a new kind of determination in her eyes. "Nuriko," she said softly, "I thought that...that maybe Tamahome could stay at your house for awhile. Since you have an extra room."  
  
Nuriko nodded. "Of course." His eyes flickered to Tamahome, who was looking weary and practically comatose beside the silent strength of Mitsukake, the tearful solidity of Miaka. "Come on, Tama-chan," he said lightly.  
  
Tamahome's voice was low, lips barely moving beneath them. "I need to go home, first." He glanced at Miaka, then back to Nuriko. "To get some things."  
  
"I'll do that," Miaka chimed, her voice a little too loud. She winced, then continued in softer tones. "Hotohori can drive me."  
  
Nuriko nodded again, folding slim arms over his chest. "And, if she misses anything, we can always go get it later."  
  
There was silence for a moment. Then, Tamahome lifted his head a fraction of an inch, lowered it again. "Okay," he murmured.  
  
"Well. Right, then. Come on, Tama-chan."   
  
--- 


	17. XVII: A Visitor. Explanations. The Bo...

The Last Wish - 17  
  
~*~  
  
A few hours passed before the doorbell rang. For some reason feeling cautious, Nuriko lifted himself onto his toes, peered out through the peephole. Auburn hair, tucked into meatball-shaped buns, a swish of silken chestnut--he reached for the knob, twisted it and tugged it towards him.  
  
Miaka stepped in first, followed by Hotohori. And, behind them... Nuriko frowned, taking in the cropped blond-brown hair, the wide blue eyes, the light dust of freckles over the nose. "Suboshi? Why--"  
  
Hotohori was in front of him, then, shaking his head lightly. "No, this isn't Suboshi. This is his twin brother, Amiboshi."  
  
"Amiboshi?"  
  
The boy nodded. He was dressed in a short-sleeved dress shirt, soft and colored a powdery blue, and both hands were slipped into the pockets of well-tailored khakis. One look at his face, and Nuriko was more than positive that what Hotohori said was true--despite the identical features, this was obviously not Suboshi. There was a kindness to these eyes, a warmth and compassion that he'd never seen on the face of this boy's violent, irritable twin.  
  
Nuriko stepped forward, clasped the boy's hand briefly in his own. "It's nice to meet you," he said, managing to keep his voice friendly despite what the thoughts of this boy's twin brought to his mind. "I'm Ryuen--Chou Ryuen--but, everyone calls me Nuriko." He frowned slightly, watching as Amiboshi's hands slipped back into his pockets. "You don't go to our school, do you? Or, have I seen you and just thought you were your brother?"  
  
Amiboshi shook his head gently. "No, I go to a private school a few miles from here. I'm off for spring break, and--well, when I heard about the accident... I would've come, even if hadn't been off."  
  
Abruptly, Nuriko seemed to realize that they were standing in the entryway with the door standing open. He brushed past Amiboshi, pushed the front door closed with a soft click. "Let's sit down, ne?" Not bothering to see if they followed him, he turned and took off for the living room--three sets of footsteps thudded at his heels as he moved.   
  
"Sorry it's a little messy," he apologized, gathering a stack of papers and books from the couch and tossing them into a corner. "My parents are visiting Rokou--that's my older brother," he added for Amiboshi's benefit, "--and so, of course, I'm in charge of keeping the house clean while they're gone." He smiled a bit sheepishly. "One room, I can do. A whole house...well, that's where I get into trouble."  
  
"Daijobu," Amiboshi offered. He'd lowered himself onto the couch beside Miaka, and was now sitting with hands folded on his lap, smiling softly. "Messes are always easier to make than clean up."  
  
Bloodied images of the Sou family flickered before his eyes at the words, made him wince. "Hai," he said quietly. "And, some messes can't be cleaned up at all."  
  
"No," Amiboshi admitted, "but, that doesn't mean they can't be dealt with in other ways."  
  
"Oh? Like what?"  
  
The younger boy sighed softly, ran a hand through the brownish tufts of his hair. "I won't lie to you--any of you. This isn't the first time Suboshi's done something like this. When we were kids, he was always picking fights with people, and he hung out with these older kids all the time." Something like regret flickered in his eyes, which turned, at length, to Nuriko. "I was there that day, when your sister was..." He sighed and trailed off, glanced down at his hands. "You have to understand, my brother and I did everything together when we were younger. You probably didn't see me, but I was there. And, I was also with them when they caught your older brother--Rokou, you said his name was?--poking around Ayuru's car."  
  
Miaka went suddenly stiff. "Ayuru," she whispered. "Why does...why does that name sound familiar?"  
  
Nuriko, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at the shift in topics, nonetheless managed to dredge up the appropriate memory. "Ayuru," he echoed. "Isn't that the name of that guy Yui-chan was dating?"  
  
"Yui-chan," Miaka murmured. She frowned and went silent, seeming to fall into deep thought.   
  
Only Hotohori was still solemn and attentive, gazing at Amiboshi with a frown creasing his forehead. "What was Rokou doing to the car?"  
  
The boy shrugged. "Nothing, as far as I could tell, just climbing around in it. I mean, it was a nice car--convertible, very expensive. A lotta kids wanted to get in it, but I guess nobody did except for your brother. It didn't seem like a big deal--he got out as soon as we came outside--but, for some reason, it made Ayuru really angry. I always wondered why he bothered to hang around with us--he was a lot older, in his late teens, I think, and we were all what? Eight? Ten? Anyway, Ayuru and Chuin--that was his best friend back then--told Kaen and the rest of us to go after your brother, and to take Ashitare along. That was his dog."  
  
Nuriko felt cold. "I know," he whispered.  
  
"We chased him into the woods, and...well, the rest of the story, you already know." Something like anguish trickled into his tone. "It was my brother's fault that Ashitare got loose. And, if you hadn't moved..."  
  
Nuriko winced, the words, //Then Kourin wouldn't be dead,// coming unbidden to his mind.   
  
Amiboshi didn't seem to notice, though, and plunged onward. "That day was the last time I ever hung out with them. I mean, somebody died, and it didn't bother them at all. Suboshi even looked--" His lip curled on the last word. "--pleased. It made me feel sick."  
  
"It was you I saw," Nuriko murmured, suddenly remembering the image of that small boy, leaning against a tree trunk with change in his eyes. "I thought it was Suboshi..." There was a long, thoughtful pause before he spoke again. "So, why are you here now?"  
  
That nameless sorrow touched his eyes again, shifting them into a deeper, richer blue. "I came here," Amiboshi said slowly, "first of all, to apologize. I...I know it isn't much, but I think someone needs to. Suboshi and I are twins, and so like it or not, he's a part of me. So...so, this is my part of the two of us, saying that I'm very, very sorry that something like this happened." There was a slight pause, then: "Second, I'm here to tell you that I'm not sure that it was...entirely an accident."  
  
The room was suddenly deathly still.  
  
"What?" Nuriko demanded at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean, you don't think it was -entirely- an accident?"  
  
"Suboshi doesn't tell me much, anymore," Amiboshi went on quietly, "but I do know this. If he hates anyone on earth, it's Tamahome. I don't know what Tamahome did to make him hate him so much, but he does. A lot. There've been times, when I was home, when that was all he seemed to talk about."  
  
Nuriko's voice was flat. "You don't just hate someone for no reason."  
  
"I know. And, Suboshi probably doesn't, either, but whatever that reason is, he won't tell it, at least not to me. All I can think of is that it's something that started a long time ago, and's been building ever since. And, the fact that Tamahome humiliated him in class a few weeks ago didn't help it, I'm sure."  
  
Miaka blinked, turned to the others questioniningly. "It was in gym class," Hotohori explained. "Suboshi was trying to convince Tamahome to fight him, but Tamahome refused. Suboshi jumped at him...and, Tamahome dodged. Suboshi hit into the lockers, knocked loose a few teeth and had to go to the nurse. When the nurse asked him about it, Tamahome said that Suboshi had tripped."  
  
"It must've infuriated him," Amiboshi added softly. "Mercy, from the person he hated."  
  
"Now, wait," Nuriko said, leaning forward in his chair. His elbow touched against his knees, and his chin sank onto his palm. "Are you saying that Suboshi killed Tamahome's family on -purpose-?"  
  
The younger boy shook his head, very lightly. "No," he said. "I'm not saying that, not exactly. What I -am- saying is this: it's an awful coincidence that when Suboshi wrecks into someone, it just happens to be the family of the one person he hates more than anybody else in the world. Suboshi doesn't drink, he never has, so why was he this time? It could just be a coincidence, or it could be that he needed that cover to change murder into manslaughter."  
  
"No." Miaka sat up straight on the couch, shook her head almost violently. "No, no, I can't believe that. No one could be that cruel, not even Suboshi. Those...those kids..." Abruptly, something like a memory flickered onto her face. "It's just like...like last time," she whispered. Her eyes went immediately to Nuriko, and the violet-haired boy shifted a bit uncomfortably beneath her gaze.  
  
"Yes," said Amiboshi, misunderstanding, "but last time, I don't think he was -trying- to get anyone killed. This time...I don't know. But, whatever the case, I thought you should know. If Suboshi really did this on purpose, if he -really- hit Tamahome's family's car with the intention to kill them, then I doubt he'll stop there. Tamahome needs to be careful. You all do. I've never seen Suboshi like this before. He's...unstable."  
  
Hotohori was frowning slightly. "Unstable or not, he is still -one- boy. How much damage can he do?"  
  
Amiboshi's voice was cool. "Ask Tamahome's family that."  
  
Miaka winced as if she'd been struck, and all present were surprised to find a sheen of tears in her eyes. "This is all my fault," she whimpered, bringing a hand to her face. "I-If I hadn't...if I hadn't been so selfish..."  
  
"Selfish?" Nuriko frowned. "Miaka, you can't possibly blame yourself for this..."  
  
The girl shook her head, rose to her feet and gave a small sob. "You don't understand," she whispered. She ran from the room. A moment later, they heard the thud of her shoes against the stairs, the click of the bathroom door slamming shut.  
  
After a few moments of silence, Hotohori locked gazes with Nuriko, slim eyebrows pressing together on his forehead. "Why would she think this was her fault?" he asked quietly.  
  
Nuriko shook his head, an aching suspicion starting to gnaw at his mind. "I don't know," he said, "but I think...I think it might have something to do with something she said at school. Something about..." He frowned. "About people dying. In a...a book."  
  
"A book?"  
  
He nodded. "Ee, a book." He lifted his hands a bit, watched the light glittering off the metal of his bracelets. "It had something to do with these, and...with an old woman." His voice sank a bit. "She thought people were going to die if she couldn't find her, and...I guess she couldn't."  
  
Hotohori pursed his lips. "Strange," he murmured.  
  
"No," said Amiboshi--his voice sounded odd, strained. "No, not strange." Suddenly, his eyes were wide and blue, boring into Nuriko with eerie intensity. "What did she say about a book?"  
  
Nuriko frowned. "Not much. I think she said something about people dying in a book, but--" The frown deepened. "--people we know."  
  
"Like who?"  
  
"Me, for one. Chiriko--Mitsukake's adopted son, you remember, ne, Hotohori? And..." His eyes shifted to the chestnut-haired eighteen-year-old, and he was suddenly silent. "I don't know what she was talking about," he went on in a soft voice. "But, whatever it was, it really scared her."  
  
"A book. A book." Amiboshi was suddenly on his feet, pacing listlessly from one side of the room to the other. "This is strange. Really strange."  
  
"What is?" Nuriko leaned back in his chair, studied the younger boy as he moved.  
  
Finally, Amiboshi paused, turned back to the two with something like confusion on his face. "It's just that...Ayuru and Chuin were always talking about a book, and, about...well, people we know dying in it. It was weird. Suboshi was always trying to tell me about it, something about constellations and fate and one of us dying if we didn't change things, but...I don't know. It always kind of creeped me out."  
  
Something thudded above them, breaking into their thoughts. "Stay here," Nuriko said, rising a little unsteadily from his chair. "I'll be right back. Tamahome probably rolled out of bed again."  
  
He swept out of the room and made for the stairs, leaving Hotohori and Amiboshi alone in the living room.   
  
---  
  
AN: Sorry to leave off here, but I'm being threatened. -_-;; Thus, I also apologize if there are any typos in this. I'll read over this again in a few hours, once I've finished *sweatdrop* cleaning my room, and the Wrath of Maternal Instinct is no longer hovering above my head, ready to strike. Ah, and look! Almost at a hundred reviews!! Who'll be the one to set me over? Oh, the excitement! *claps hands together* 


	18. XVIII: Upstairs. The Strength of the W...

The Last Wish - 18  
  
~*~  
  
He was about halfway up the stairs when he realized that something was wrong.  
  
The door to Tamahome's room--which he'd left wide open in case Tamahome called for anything--had been closed. And, if the slight, fist-shaped bulge in the wood was any indication, it hadn't been closed gently. Eyes going wide, Nuriko sprinted up the last few steps, thudded onto the carpet of the upstairs hall. As he charged towards the door, he could hear the sounds of grunts and thuds and violent rustling, now all too clearly-audible from behind the polished wood. He skidded to a halt before the door, spent a long moment trying to decide what to do. The breath seemed caught in his lungs, and his pulse was racing, sending the adrenaline pumping through his veins until he began to shake. It was more than a little difficult to grab onto the doorknob with the trembles rippling through his fingers, but he managed anyway. He latched onto the cool brass and twisted, hard.   
  
It was locked.  
  
"Damn," he hissed. "Damn, damn, damn. TAMAHOME!" He raised a fist, brought it down hard on the wood. "TAMAH--"  
  
He broke off, startled, as the wood of the door splintered beneath the impact of his fist. Wood chips sputtered out beneath his hand, granted him a brief glimpse of a bloodied Tamahome leaping by... And, then, all of a sudden, everything seemed to be happening at once. From down the hall, the bathroom door swung open, making way for a worried-looking Miaka, while the thuds and cries of Hotohori and Amiboshi running towards the stairs echoed from far below. And, then, there were the crashes and groans coming from inside Tamahome's room, growing louder and more alarming as the seconds went by.  
  
Nuriko didn't hesitate. He stepped back, lifted his foot, and slammed it into the door. The hinges broke off cleanly, and as he watched, the heavy wood fell to the floor with a crash, sent a fine cloud of dust fluttering into the air. Despite the theatrics, though, Tamahome didn't even glance up, and Nuriko felt a chill of fear go through him.  
  
Tamahome looked like a man possessed. His eyes were wide and wild, glinting with dark flame, and he was moving with the kind of sureness and dexterity Nuriko'd only ever seen in those damned ninja movies Rokou liked so much. The seventeen-year-old's fists flew with what looked like practice precision, his boots lashing out in sharp, well-timed kicks, and if it hadn't been for the thin line of blood seeping down his nose, Nuriko would've been inclined to believe Tamahome was some untouchable figure of myth, godly and invulnerable.   
  
Suboshi, meanwhile, wasn't looking well at all. His blond-brown hair was matted and rusty, his nose--which had already been broken, Nuriko remembered--trickled with blood, and there were numerous scrapes and bruises covering his arms and legs. He moved with a wavering kind of determination, lashing out however he could--but, always, inevitably, Tamahome dodged the blows, and sent a few of his own slamming into the boy's body.  
  
"Damn you!" Suboshi shrieked, lashing out again, and--as Tamahome sunk into a low crouch--missing again. "Damn you, I'll kill you! I'll fucking KILL YOU!"  
  
For a long moment, Nuriko could only stand there, mesmerized, and watch those graceful limbs lance out at Suboshi. It was like some kind of morbid dance, elegant and beautiful...but, deadly.   
  
A cry from behind him jolted him out of his reverie, made him turn. Miaka had come up behind him, was now standing with hands pressed over her mouth, eyes wide and riveted to the fight.   
  
"T-Tamahome!" she managed.  
  
Nuriko nodded slightly as if to himself, then stepped over the fallen door and picked his way to where the two combatants battled. They'd trashed the room, he noticed as he moved--the porcelain figurines lay shattered and broken on the floor, shards of glass and flower petals blanketed the bureau, and a great pool of water was gathering in the corner, where a pitcher had been knocked over. The chair was on its side, also, and it was this that he stepped over, finally, to reach Tamahome and Suboshi. They must've known he and Miaka were there, but for some reason, neither glanced up, both lashing out at each other with surprising violence and ardor.  
  
"TAMAHOME!" Nuriko bellowed, ducking just in time to avoid one of Suboshi's failed punches. "TAMAHOME, STOP!"  
  
Tamahome didn't even glance at him--instead, he raised a fist, shouted something incomprehensible, and slammed it at Suboshi's chest. The younger boy, who'd been swinging back for his own punch, was caught completely off-guard, and went flying backwards towards the wall. Nuriko saw the open window and the inevitable conclusion only a moment before Tamahome himself did.  
  
He didn't give himself time to think. Nuriko dashed forward, yelping in pain as one of Tamahome's flying fists slammed into his shoulder, and launched himself toward the window. Meanwhile, just ahead of him, Suboshi was skidding backwards, unaware of the danger, and, then--  
  
Suboshi slammed into the window sill, tripped backwards, and began to fall through the frame, out the window--Nuriko leaped forward, reaching wildly for that twitching hand as Suboshi screamed and scrambled to save himself, blue eyes going wide with fear and horror--  
  
"DAMN YOU, DON'T SAVE HIM!" Tamahome shrieked.   
  
Nuriko almost paused at the words, struck dumb by the malice, the anger, the dark and fiery hatred--it didn't even sound like Tamahome, and yet, he KNEW it was Tamahome speaking, Tamahome screaming... He didn't pause, though, didn't give himself more than an instant to think. Instead, he dove forward just as Suboshi began to plummet. Pain surged through him as his chest slammed onto the window sill, but he ignored it, eyes locked on Suboshi's wrist, just beginning to drop from view--  
  
Suboshi screamed as Nuriko's slim fingers wrapped around his wrist, twisting it painfully...but, Nuriko paid no attention. Now, with Suboshi's weight added to his own, the sill was cutting into his chest with alarming force, making it difficult to breathe, but, he ignored this pain, ignored Tamahome's angry shouts, ignored Miaka's shrill screams, ignored even the anguished cries of the boy beneath him. Instead, he closed his eyes, closed his eyes and stopped the breath in his lungs and focused on the thudding of his heartbeat, the rippling of the blood through his veins. There was throbbing pain, piercing agony--he was sure he'd cracked a rib, was probably cracking more as they spoke--but, he cleared this from his mind, too. And as he hung there, bent over the sill with a human life dangling from his fingers, suddenly, everything seemed to slow, to fade into something whispery and cloudlike.  
  
The backs of his eyelids were dark and cool, and on his mind was a touch like water, trickling over his heated muscles, giving him strength. Life paused for a moment, and he found himself in a dark pool, swirling gently against the tide of his own thoughts.  
  
why do i care if he dies it's not like he's someone i love he's someone who killed someone i love and killed the family of someone i love and it's hurting me to be here it's painful and it hurts so much and what if i fall too and die and it's because of him and yet still i need to save him i have to save him there's something that makes me need to save him but i don't know what it is or why but i know that i need to save him have to save him have to save him and i don't know why but i have to i have to i have to  
  
//I have to. I have to...\\  
  
Something exploded inside of him.  
  
Nuriko eyes flared open, and time seemed to surge back into motion again, to draw him up out of the darkness and send him plunging back into reality again. Suboshi was dangling from his fingers, terrified and screaming, and Tamahome was bellowing angrily behind him, Miaka's screeches inaudible beneath his rage. Things were just as they'd been a moment ago, just as dire and frightening...and, yet, something was different. For a moment, long only within his own mind, he couldn't figure out just what it was that had changed, or why he was suddenly so accutely aware of it.  
  
And, then, abruptly, he knew.   
  
//It's me. No. It's...it's IN me.\\  
  
A fiery strength now surged throug his veins, banishing the pain from his chest, his wrist, making it almost easy to bear Suboshi's weight--and, not just to bear it, but to lift it. Slowly, marveling at this new burst of power even as the rest of his mind focused on the action itself, Nuriko planted his feet firmly on the ground, slid backwards, and lifted Suboshi up from where he hung. His arm obeyed his command, not even shaking beneath the weight, and a moment later, he'd tugged the boy easily up through the window, let him dangle for a short moment before dropping him to the floor.  
  
It was only then that he noticed the bracelets--or, rather, the lack of the bracelets. Somehow, his forearms were now sheathed in cool, glistening metal, glowing crimson in the fading light, and he knew instantly that the power had come from here, from this fiery glow...and, also, from inside. From so deep within that he'd never noticed the strength before, but now, inevitably, had found it.  
  
And, then, the pain and exhaustion caught up with him, and he crumpled to the floor and was still.  
  
--- 


	19. XIX: Breaking the Fog. Consequences.

The Last Wish - 19  
  
~*~  
  
The day was cold around him, the land dark and covered in a thin layer of mist. His eyes, flickering from one sightless flood of fog to the next, could catch only the vague impressions of landforms in the distance--the shadowy rise of a mountain, the darkened roll of a hill, the jutting zigzag of a forest against the horizon. Other than this, there was nothing, and it seemed that even his own body was becoming lost in the fog, that if he didn't keep glancing downwards to make sure that his legs were still there, they might vanish, too, become nothing more than shadowy ghosts against the mist. Suddenly afraid without knowing why, he sank to his knees on the ground, wrapped his arms around his legs and tried to focus on his breathing. The air was crisp and very cool, no murmur of sunlight to warm it, and yet for some reason, he himself felt warm. He could feel the chill of the wind on his flesh, knew that the air in his lungs was cold, the ground beneath him was cold--but, it was as if some mysterious fire burned within him, drawing the warmth through his veins until the chill of the day paled beneath it.  
  
The inner flame felt like power inside of him--like strength--and so, he uncurled himself and rose to his feet, stared out at the land with the fire of determination in his eyes. The fog suddenly began to melt beneath his gaze--everywhere he looked, the mist dissippated immediately, fluttered into tiny flakes of snow and fell silently to the ground. Amazed by this strange power, he walked in a small circle, letting his eyes touch all the fog, all the darkness, and soon every spot of fog had burst into snow, and it was raining down on him and pricking against his flesh. At last, this work done, he lifted his eyes up to the sky, gazed at that bright grey spot where the sun was enwrapped--and by gods, even the clouds shifted beneath his gaze.  
  
And, then, he was standing alone in a field of snow, the sunlight pale but warm on his face, and he knew very suddenly that he'd made a mistake. Trying to rid the world of all the fog, all the darkness, trying to free even the sun from its bonds--it had been too much. Too much to take on alone. And, now, he felt weakened, drained, as if the very blood within his veins was seeping out. He sank to his knees in the snow--and it was only then that he saw that it was flecked with crimson, only then that he felt the great pain in his chest, felt the great, stinging, screaming agony...  
  
He was going...to die?  
  
Suddenly, just as the thought flickered through his mind, he felt icy hands on his throat, cold fingers against his flesh, and the calm acceptance fled from him in a sudden flood of self-preservation.  
  
"NO!" he shrieked, twisting in the snow, trying to pull away from the hands. "NO! I won't go! I won't! Please--!"  
  
---  
  
A low, dry voice echoed in his ears, then, drawing him from the dream. "Fine, then, don't go. But, if you keep thrashing like that, you're going to break another rib."  
  
Reality trickled into him like cool water. He was lying down on a firm, plasticky mattress, wrapped in warm blankets, his head flung back against a pillow. The air that filtered into his nostrils was warm, sticky almost, sickeningly-sweet with the odor of disinfectants, medicines, and God only knew what else. So. A hospital, then.  
  
Cautiously, he opened his eyes, blinked a few times to clear the sleep from them.  
  
Mitsukake gazed down at him silently for a moment, impossibly tall in his white coat. A slender clipboard was tucked beneath his left arm. "It's good you're awake. I have some questions for you." His eyes went suddenly wide. "Ahh, Nuriko, I wouldn't try to sit up just y--"  
  
"AH!" Breathing heavily in sudden pain, Nuriko fell back against the pillow, clutched at his ribs. "Ow." He glared for a moment at the tall doctor, noticing with a bit of consternation that the deep breaths only seemed to increase the pain. "Next time, tell me these things a little earlier, ne, Mitsukake?"  
  
Mitsukake smiled, a rare enough thing in and of itself. "Usually, it's not necessary immediately after the patient wakes up. Most people who have just broken two ribs wait at least a few hours before attempting to leap out of bed." His voice went dry. "But, then, I suppose few of them are as resilient as you are." The smile faded a bit, then, and Stern Doctor Face returned. "Now," Mitsukake said, bringing the clipboard up before his eyes, "if you could answer a few questions..."  
  
Nuriko sighed lightly, leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. "Sure."  
  
"Do you have any history of chronic pulmonary problems?"  
  
"No."  
  
The pen scratched against the clipboard. "Heavy smoking?"  
  
Nuriko made a face. "No."  
  
Scratch-scratch. "All right. Now..." Mitsukake lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the bed, drew back the blankets. "Now, when I do this--" He rested one large hand on the paper-gown-covered chest, pressed his fingers down a bit. "--does it hu--"  
  
"AAH!"   
  
Mitsukake gave a tight smile, scratched something down. "All right. How about here?"  
  
"AAAHHHHH!"  
  
Another tight smile, another scratch-scratch. "All right. How about--"  
  
Nuriko grabbed onto the doctor's wrist, held it suspended above his chest. "Wait. Just. One. Minute," he managed, gasping against the pain. "Is this really necessary??"  
  
Again, that thin smile touched the doctor's lips. "No, Nuriko, it's not necessary. As a matter of fact, I'm not even the doctor assigned to you. I just do this to entertain myself when things get boring in the E.R."  
  
Nuriko sighed, closed his eyes. "Funny."  
  
There was the rustle of cloth as Mitsukake sat back, accompanied by the subtle shifting of the mattress beneath him. "Nuriko..."   
  
The violet-haired boy opened his eyes at the solemn note to the man's voice, found Mitsukake staring down at him with an odd expression on his face. He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Mitsukake?"  
  
The man's voice was low. "Miaka told me what happened. You know you could've been killed."  
  
He shrugged, the realization pricking against his skin like tiny flakes of snow. "But, I wasn't." It sounded a little lame even in his own ears, but it was the truth. "Anyway--" His voice softened. "--I had to."  
  
Mitsukake was silent for a moment, gazing contemplatively at the shelf of flowers and cards that rested just beside the bed. "I know," he said at last. "And, confidentially, it's good that you were there. If you hadn't been, Tamahome might be in some serious trouble."  
  
Wild, dark eyes flickered into his mind at the words, made him shiver. "Tamahome," he murmured. "Is he all right?"  
  
Mitsukake nodded. "Yes, he's all right. He had a small cut above his left eye, but that was all."  
  
"What about...Suboshi?"  
  
"Just bruised, mostly. His wrist is broken, and he had a few cuts on his face and arms, but nothing dire. He'll be fine in a few weeks."  
  
Nuriko let out a heavy sigh of relief, leaned his head back against the pillow. "Good," he whispered. "Good."  
  
//I saved him. Because of me, someone's alive who wouldn't have been.\\   
  
Something dark and heavy thudded into his stomach.  
  
//But, that also means that whatever he does with the rest of his life, whoever he hurts...it's my fault. If he finally manages to kill Tamahome, it's my fault.\\  
  
He would've been glad to lay there for awhile longer, mulling over things and thinking darkly about the future, but at that moment, there was a soft knock on the door, followed by the squeak of hinges. And, then, an altogether different kind of squeak.  
  
"Nuriko!!" Miaka squealed, rushing to the bedside. "You're awake!"  
  
Nuriko smiled, shifting himself into a semi-sitting position VERY carefully. "Miaka," he greeted warmly. "I'm glad you're here."  
  
Miaka's small hand was suddenly wrapped around his own, her weight tugging gently at the mattress. "Nuriko," she managed, eyes suddenly large and teary. "I-I'm so glad you're okay! I was so scared that you were...y-you were--"  
  
Dead, his mind finished. She'd thought he was dead.  
  
Don't you remember that you DIED?!  
  
It felt like so long ago, that moment in the school hallway. And, yet, ever since then, things had been falling slowly apart. Tamahome's family dying, Tamahome attacking Suboshi in the hospital, Suboshi returning for revenge, Amiboshi showing up with tales of murder...and, talk of this book. This damned, damned book where people they loved died--where he died, where Hotohori died. Where Mitsukake and Chiriko died. He knew he should be confused--good God, just a few hours ago, he'd lifted the equivalent of a full-sized adult up through a window with one hand!--but, for some reason, things made an eerie kind of sense. It was as if he'd been living in a fog for all his life, unable to see the truth that was glaring just in front of him. Yet, now, suddenly, the air was clear again, and all the land he'd never seen was stretching out before him, rolling off towards a horizon he'd never dreamed of glimpsing.  
  
Mitsukake's voice boomed through his thoughts, drew him up out of the reverie. "He has two broken ribs," he said slowly, glancing between them as he spoke. "Luckily, that seems to be all--except for a small bruise on his shoulder and a slight strain to his right wrist--but, it almost would've been better if he'd broken something else. Normally, when a bone is broken, it has to be immobilized so it'll heal. In the case of ribs, though, that's impossible."  
  
Miaka suddenly looked alarmed. "Why? Why can't you fix them? Is Nuriko going to die??"  
  
Mitsukake stared at her in surprise for a moment, eyes wide and blinking...and, then, he smiled, shook his head gently. "No. No, he's not going to die. Please, calm down, Miaka--Nuriko's in no danger. As I was saying, it's impossible to immobilize ribs, because the patient has to breathe. And, when you breathe--" He glanced at Miaka expectantly.  
  
"Your ribs move," she finished, looking a little sheepish. "What can you do for him, then? He's not gonna have to lay here until they heal, is he??"  
  
Mitsukake shook his head. "No. I'm going to give him something to help with the pain--it's called a rib belt, and it should make it easier to breathe without too much pain." His eyes shifted back to the violet-haired patient. "I'll also give you some painkillers, since it's best that you try to get away from using the rib belt after a few days."  
  
Startled, Nuriko stared at the man. "You mean, I can go home? Soon?"  
  
He nodded. "Yes. I'm going to try to get you out of here as soon as possible." Another thin smile. "It's high school prom season, after all. We're going to need every bed we can spare."  
  
God. Prom... In the blur of all that had been going on, he'd completely forgotten about it--about all normal things. It was hard to remember that he was a high school senior, that he had papers due and finals to study for and a prom in just a few days. Why did he feel so displaced from everything all of a sudden?  
  
"Anyway," Mitsukake continued after a moment's pause, "I'm going to go finish up your chart and write out a prescription. But, first of all, it's very important that you do a few things over the next few days. First of all, wear the rib belt for the first few days constantly, and then taper off after that, wearing it only when you really need to. Second of all, make sure that you take lots of deep breaths, even if it hurts. Coughing, also, is important."  
  
Nuriko frowned. "Why?"  
  
"To prevent pneumonia. Now. If you do everything I've told you--wear the rib belt, take deep breaths, cough--then, you should be just fine. The pain and discomfort will fade off over about two weeks' time, and then we'll schedule a follow-up visit so I can see how you're healing. And, Nuriko." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I know you're...an active person. But, this is very, very important. No strenuous activity at ALL for at least eight weeks."  
  
His eyes went wide. "E-Eight weeks?"  
  
"Yes. And, if the pain gets worse instead of better, or if you have shortness of breath or a fever, then get in touch with me immediately. All right?"  
  
Nuriko nodded.  
  
"Miaka told me earlier that your parents were out of town."  
  
"Hai. They're up visiting Rokou. They won't be back for another few days."  
  
"I would suggest calling them. Under the circumstances, it's best if you're not all alone in a house. It'll be very difficult to get things done, for one thing, and for another, if something goes wrong, there'll be no one to help you."  
  
Miaka sat up straight on the bed, jostling Nuriko a bit painfully. "I'll stay with him!" she exclaimed.   
  
The seventeen-year-old frowned slightly, touching gently at his ribs as if to hold them in place. "What about Tamahome?"  
  
Miaka shook her head. "Don't worry about him. He's staying with Hotohori, now."  
  
"Hotohori?"  
  
"Un. Don't worry, Hotohori's got lots of room in that big house."  
  
"But..." The frown deepened. "Miaka, you have school. You can't just skip a week to take care of me."  
  
Miaka was smiling, but there was something dark in her eyes--something like fear. "Of course, I can!" she protested, and Nuriko noticed that her voice was a little too high, her words a little to quick. "It'll be fun. Like a big sleepover, ne? And, I can keep things clean and answer the phone and bring you things and cook!"  
  
Nuriko made a face. "Ano..." He raised an eyebrow in Mitsukake's direction. "Cooking isn't a strenuous acitivity, is it? O-Onegai?"  
  
Mitsukake smiled. "No. Cooking should be fine. And, off the record, I think Miaka staying with you is a good idea. Of course--" The smile bent a bit. "--officially, skipping out on school for it isn't a good idea, but...I'm sure we can arrange something."  
  
Miaka, suddenly, had circled the bed and leaped at the startled doctor, was hugging him tightly. "Arrigato, Mitsukake!" she cried. "I'll take good care of him!"  
  
"I'm sure you will. But, please, for his safety and yours, let Nuriko do the cooking."  
  
"H...hai."  
  
--- 


	20. XX: Visited.

The Last Wish - 20  
  
~*~  
  
Miaka'd gone to the hospital cafeteria to get some breakfast--he'd spent the night in the hospital, and hadn't even realized it until Mitsukake'd commented on it--and, so now, he was alone. It wasn't really all that bad, being alone. It felt kind of peaceful, really. No shrill voices chirping in his ears, no friends gone insane to rescue, no one to see the tears that betrayed him so easily... Yes. Kind of nice. Sighing softly, Nuriko lay his head back against the papery hospital pillow, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the nasal, "Doctor Mortimer. Doctor Mortimer. Doctor Mortimer to the Area Five Nurse's Station. Thank you."  
  
After a few moments had passed, the door to his room slid quietly open, nothing but the slight hiss as it brushed over the carpet to betray its movement--that, and the unmistakable feeling of SOMEONE IS HERE! braying like a trumpet in his mind. He thought of opening his eyes immediately, seeing who dared trespass in the sacred space of his hospital room only a few hours before his departure--but, hey, what was the point? If it was a friend, there was no danger. If it was someone who meant to hurt him...well, it wasn't like he could get up and run, anyway. Breathing hurt enough on its own.   
  
"Who is it?" he murmured.  
  
A shadow fell over him; a low, familiar voice met his ears a moment later. "I need to talk to you."  
  
Nuriko opened his eyes, found himself staring up into the wide blue eyes, dark as night in everything but color. "Suboshi," he acknowledged softly.  
  
The boy nodded. He looked a little better than the last time they'd seen each other--the cuts and bruises had been bandaged, his swollen wrist was wrapped, and his face had been washed; his straight brown hair was neatly combed. "I need to talk to you," he repeated in a low, urgent voice. "It's important."  
  
Clutching at his ribs, Nuriko shifted into a more upright position, granted the boy as much of his attention as he could spare. "Go ahead," he said.   
  
Suboshi, after a quick glance behind him (he'd closed the door, Nuriko noticed, and probably locked it, too), slid forward and lowered himself gently onto the edge of the bed.  
  
Gotta get a chair in here, Nuriko thought darkly.  
  
Oddly enough, Suboshi looked genuinely upset. "You know what you did, don't you?" he asked in a hushed voice. "You know what you did?"  
  
Nuriko raised an eyebrow. "Saved your life?"  
  
The boy flushed and looked away, then turned back; nodded. "Yeah...but, not that. You--" His eyes seemed to brighten all of a sudden, to glow with some strange inner light. "You used your seishi powers," he whispered.  
  
Nuriko's mouth felt dry. "My...my what?"  
  
"Oh, come on," Suboshi said. "Don't play dumb. You must know--you've gotta know. You can't just use them if you don't. Even after Nakago-sama told me, it took awhile before I could do anything."  
  
"N-Nakago..."  
  
"Hai." The boy was suddenly leaning close to him, a look of such intensity in his eyes that Nuriko had the sudden urge to take a long step backwards--through the wall if necessary. "I've known for a couple years, now. But...but, Nakago-sama was the one who told me. He and Tomo--they wouldn't tell me how they found out, but I know who it was." He nodded. "I know. But, how did you find out? Was it Miaka?" His eyes were wide and bright, gleaming with something like excitement.   
  
"Suboshi, honestly--I have no idea what you're talking about."   
  
But...  
  
But, he was beginning to. Slowly, carefully, all the pieces that had been scattering around his life over the past few days were coming together, and something like comprehension was beginning to form. Something like...revelation.  
  
Suboshi offered him a quick half-smile, then shrugged and leaned back. "Fine, have it your way," he said. "But..." His eyes glittered. "Don't you wanna talk about it? That was all I wanted to do after I found out, you know? I mean, gods, just thinking about it. Just thinking about being part of something else, something bigger--it makes me wanna scream and just...just go crazy."  
  
[[I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!]]  
  
"Yeah," Nuriko murmured. "You've got that part covered."  
  
The boy flushed again, but this time a glimmer of anger trickled into his gaze. "You know, I didn't -ask- you to save me."  
  
"And, I didn't ask you to break into my house and attack my friend," Nuriko countered quietly. "Just like Tamahome didn't -ask- you to smash into his family's car."  
  
Suboshi paled. "That was an accident."  
  
"Was it?"  
  
"Of course, it was! What the hell, you think I go around smashing into cars for fun?"  
  
"I don't know what you do for fun. But, I know that it's a pretty big coincidence that you just happened to run into Tamahome's family the one time you decided to get drunk. Ne?"  
  
Suboshi stared at him for a long time, half-bent over the bed, fingers digging into the bedsheets. His eyes were large and dark and haunted, and there was something about the way his jaw clenched that made Nuriko wonder just how certain he was, anyway... And, then, Suboshi straightened up and took a step back, folded his arms over his chest.  
  
"You don't understand," he said in a low voice. "I thought you did, but..." He shook his head. "You don't."  
  
Abruptly, the door swung open. "Nuriko," Miaka said brightly, "I brought you some sou--" The girl froze in the doorway, two small styrofoam bowls cradled in her hands. Her eyes went wide. "Y...You," she whispered. "Nuriko, what's he doing in here? He didn't hurt you, did he??"  
  
Nuriko sighed. "No, it's all right. He just came...to talk."  
  
"To talk?" she echoed.  
  
"Yeah," said Suboshi. "Just to talk." His voice sank, went dark. "But, it was a waste of time. I'll see ya around, Nuriko."  
  
And, with that, the boy brushed past Miaka, tugged the door open the rest of the way, and stepped out into the hallway. A few seconds later, he was out of sight down the corridor.  
  
---  
  
AN: Gomen ne. This is a -very- short chapter...but, as I'm going to be away all day packing things up from my dorm room *sweatdrop*, I won't have time to work on it until much later. So. Here's a bit to tide over those who actually -read- this fic until I return. ^_~. Ta-ta. :) 


	21. XXI: Sacrifices. Nuriko and Miaka.

---  
  
The Last Wish - 21  
  
~*~  
  
"Miaaaaaaaaaaaaaka!"  
  
Her head snapped up from the table, stared bleary-eyed at an unfamiliar doorway. This... She frowned. This wasn't her house. No, this was most definitely not her house. And, what had woken her up? Miaka glanced sleepily around, taking in the neatly-polished countertops, the mottled wood of the cupboards, the magnet-decorated cream of the refrigerator. It certainly felt familiar, like someplace she'd been many times before, but... Damn it, where was her conscious mind!? It'd know what was going on for sure...  
  
And, then, there came a voice from upstairs, echoing with surprising volume through the house. "Miaaaaaaaaaaaaaka!"  
  
Nuriko's voice drew her back into reality, brought the extra touch of familiarity to the Chou family kitchen--right. She'd come in here--she glanced at her watch--two and a half hours ago, intending to raid Nuriko's cookbooks and do her best to make something edible for breakfast. But, now... Well, it was a little late for breakfast. She bit her lip in consternation, cursing herself for falling asleep on the job.   
  
//You're not just a cook or a housekeeper, Miaka,\\ she reminded herself sternly. //You're a bodyguard.\\  
  
"Miaaaaaaaaaaaaaakaaaaaaaaaaa!"  
  
She leaped to her feet, noticing as she moved that--in a fit of cooking eagerness, she guessed--she'd tied a lacy apron around her waist. Her fingers ripped at the ties as she hurried from the kitchen, mounted the stairs, and thudded up towards Nuriko's room. She was out of breath and still tangling with the apron straps as she clomped in through the doorway, came to a halt just inside.  
  
"Hai?"   
  
Nuriko, who was lying in a semi-sitting position against the pillowed headboard, turned his head as she entered. The skin beneath his eyes was dark and shadowed, giving her a pretty good idea of how much sleep he'd gotten the night before, but he looked cheery enough.   
  
One violet eye ducked into a wink. "How was your nap?"  
  
She flushed. "Gomen ne. I sat down to think about what to cook, and I...I guess I drifted off."  
  
Nuriko shrugged, swept the covers carefully back, and then just as carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. Miaka dashed forward in shock, eyes going wide. "Nuriko!" she shrieked. "Mitsukake said not to move!!"  
  
"He also told you not to cook," Nuriko countered dryly. "Nee?" Ignoring her continued protests, he planted his bare feet on the floor, smoothed briefly at the silky beige of his pajamas, and then hefted himself into a standing position. He was wearing the rib belt, at least, but the movement still seemed to pain him. He winced, clutching at his ribs and sucking in a sharp breath.  
  
"Ne," Miaka growled, "told you so."  
  
"Hai, hai," Nuriko breathed. "Help me downstairs, ne?"  
  
It was...strange. Here was Nuriko, standing just in front of her, his face pinched with pain and his hand wrapped around his chest--and, all of a sudden, all she could think about was what he'd said a few days ago. Gods, it felt like an eternity ago. So much had happened... But, there it was, within her all of a sudden, and she couldn't help but wonder just what had happened to the Nuriko she'd glimpsed then.  
  
He'd all but confessed his love to her--and, she'd done nothing but hurt him in return. The look in his eyes as he left that vacant lot--pain, sorrow; hopelessness. She'd meant to have a long talk with him about it before, the first moment the two of them were alone after they got back to her house, but Tamahome's family-- She winced inwardly. --and, so, she hadn't gotten the chance. But...  
  
She glanced at Nuriko's profile as she took his arm, led him towards the door. It was so easy to pretend that it hadn't happened, so easy to look at Nuriko and see the Nuriko she'd always known. But, in this world, she hadn't always known him, had she? All she saw of him was colored by her memories of the him she'd known in the Book, tinted forever with the crimson of his blood and his death. Could she afford to let this go, to just forget that Nuriko had feelings for her and maybe always would?  
  
If things really *were* going to happen as they had in the Book, could she afford to let it go when Nuriko was going to die?  
  
"Miaka."  
  
His voice jerked her out of it, and she realized with a start that she'd come to a slow halt at the edge of the stairs, had been staring off blankly into space. She blinked. "G-Gomen," she managed, giving Nuriko a very wide, very fake smile. "I was thinking about something."  
  
Whether it was the pain or the lack of sleep or just that he was feeling kind this morning, Nuriko let it slide. "Daijobu," he offered softly. "But, ne, I want to get downstairs in one piece, so pay attention, all right?"  
  
Miaka nodded. "Un."   
  
They finished the jarring trek down the stairs and--after moving into the kitchen for a moment so Nuriko could grab a box of Special-K--headed for the living room. It was about eleven-thirty, and so, after Miaka helped him to lower himself onto the couch, Nuriko grabbed the remote from the armrest, cradled it in his slender fingers, and switched on The Price Is Right.  
  
"Kimberly Conner, come on dowwwwwwwn!" bellowed Rod Roddy. "Yoooou're the next contestant on the Price Is Right!"  
  
The audience erupted in cheers, and an excited-looking blonde in a University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown sweatshirt leaped to her feet with a shriek. A moment later, she'd vaulted over the lap of an irritated-looking dark-haired girl, then was skipping her way down towards Bob Barker and the other contestants.  
  
"Doo do do dooo," Nuriko sang softly. "Doo do do-doooo DOOO doo. Do-do-do--"  
  
He broke off rather abruptly as Miaka flopped onto the cushion beside him, snatched the remote from his fingers, and muted the TV.   
  
One dark eyebrow arched. "Miaka?"  
  
Now, she knew, was not the perfect time for this. Tamahome's family, Nuriko's injuries, Tamahome's near-breakdown--too much had been happening, and a talk about something like this was certainly less than welcome right now. Gods, things were complicated enough. Why was she dredging this up??   
  
But...but, no. Miaka gave herself a little shake, nodded inwardly. No, they had to talk about this. And, even if now wasn't the perfect time, it very well might be the -only- time, and so she would use it. No matter what might happen, no matter what might come of it, she would use it.  
  
"Nuriko, I think we should talk," she said. The words came out in a rush, and she knew that her cheeks were flushed, her hands trembling in her lap, but all the inner resolve in the world wouldn't stop her body from reacting.  
  
Beside her, Nuriko shifted. His eyes were on her, but she didn't look at him. "Talk," he echoed. "About what?"  
  
"About..." The words felt cold on her tongue. "About what...what you said a couple days ago. About how you feel."  
  
Nuriko was silent for a long moment, staring at her breathlessly--and, then, he let out a slightly-strained laugh, shook his head. "Iie, Miaka, that was just a misunderstanding--"  
  
"No." For once, her voice was firm. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was thundering in her chest. "No," she repeated more softly. "Daijobu, Nuriko. I know the truth. I know that you...you have feelings for me."  
  
"O-Of course, I do, baka. We've been friends for years--"  
  
"You know that's not what I mean. Feelings...other than friendship."  
  
There was a long, stricken silence. And, then, Nuriko sighed, leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. Miaka looked at him, now, the danger of his gaze elsewhere, and watched the movements of his jaw muscles as he spoke.  
  
"I thought you'd figured it out," he said quietly. It was strange, but his voice--it was low, so unlike the one he usually spoke with. He sounded like...a man. "Gomen ne, Miaka. I know this doesn't help anything. Especially with things like they are now, with Tamahome and...his family. Demo--" His eyes flared suddenly open, and he turned to look at her. And, despite how desperately she wanted to, she found that she couldn't look away. "--I...I love you, Miaka."  
  
It felt so strange, hearing him say those words and mean them.  
  
"And...Miaka, it took me so long to realize it that I thought that it wasn't true, but..." The fervor drained suddenly from Nuriko's eyes, and they dropped towards the floor. "But, it is. And, I'm not...asking for anything from you. I know that you love Tamahome, and I'd never think of trying to get between you two. So...it's good, I guess, that you know--but, forget that you know, ne, Miaka? It'll make it easier for everyone. Especially me."  
  
Forget. He wanted her to forget. Not that she could, of course--but, this was truly what Nuriko wanted her to do. He wanted her to dismiss his feelings, push them aside, and let things go back to normal. As if nothing...had ever happened.   
  
//Does he really love me that much?\\ she demanded silently, startled to find a sheen of tears in her eyes. //Can anyone love someone that much, that their own happiness doesn't matter to them at all??\\  
  
But...gods, Nuriko'd done this before, hadn't he? The first time had been with Kourin, both here and in the Book. He'd loved her enough to give up all of himself for her, to sacrifice all that was Ryuen and turn himself into her--become her. And, in Hokkan, in the Book--gods, he'd given up all of himself there, too, for the sake of his Miko and his friends. He'd let himself die twice for other people, once literally and once figuratively, and now he was going to do it again, wasn't he? Now, he was going to do it again. Gods, he was going to do it again! He was going to sacrifice himself, and even though she didn't know when or where or under what circumstances, she knew that it would happen with such certainty that it scared her.  
  
He was going to die. He was going to die, again, for her. For their friends. Nuriko was going to die.  
  
The breath caught in her lungs.  
  
Unless.  
  
  
Unless...she changed something.   
  
  
Unless she changed something -big.-   
  
  
Her heart was thundering in her chest, pounding so loudly in her ears that it drowned out even the harsh in and out of her own breathing.  
  
//Is this important enough for me to do this? Is this really important enough to do this? To risk this?\\  
  
She knew even as the words formed that it was. Oh, gods, it was. If Taiitsu-kun wasn't going to save them, then it was a good bet that no one was. It was up to her. Her. Miaka. Suzaku no Miko. It was up to her. And, to save Nuriko, what wouldn't she do? To save him, Hotohori, all of her friends...what wouldn't she give up? What wouldn't she sacrifice?  
  
//True love,\\ she whispered inwardly. //I would give up true love.\\  
  
Her heart was still pounding in her ears as Miaka turned to the boy beside her, turned and stared at him and felt every nerve in her body screaming with fear and worry and something breathless like anticipation. Her pulse was racing, and there was a fearful heat rippling over her flesh, tingling in her fingers, shuddering up her spine. She was very aware of her own breathing, very aware of the rush of the blood in her veins, the trickle of saliva running down her throat, the dizzying sensation of knowing that she was about to change something that could never, ever be changed back--and, she was doing it, anyway, regardless of consequence. No. Because of consequence.  
  
//This is our only chance.\\  
  
Their only chance.   
  
Not giving herself anymore time to think or reconsider, Miaka leaned forward, placed one slim hand on the silken violet of Nuriko's head...and, kissed him.   
  
Nuriko's entire body went tense beneath her. His eyes were wide and dark and astonished, his arms held rigidly to the sides as if he were trying frantically to figure out what to do with them. And, then, suddenly seeming to shake himself from the shock of the embrace, he pulled away, backed into the far corner of the couch and stared at her like she'd lost her mind.  
  
"M-Miaka!" he squeaked, gasping as if out of breath. "Whaa...whaaaa...what the hell are you DOING!?"  
  
All right, so maybe this wasn't exactly the reaction she'd been expecting.   
  
But, she supposed she should've guessed he'd be skeptical. After all, what human being wouldn't be, to suddenly find what he'd always secretly hoped for dropped into his lap without warning? So...that just meant that she had to convince him, that was all.  
  
"Nuriko," Miaka said softly, "gomen ne." She drew his slender hand into hers, took the palm to her cheek and held it there. "I love you, too. I...I was afraid to say it before, but...it's true. I love you."  
  
Nuriko shook his head violently, but he didn't pull his hand away. "Iie," he whispered, staring at her with pain in his eyes--as if he thought this were some cruel joke. "Iie. You...you love Tamahome. You've -always- loved Tamahome."  
  
The girl closed her eyes briefly. "Hai," she answered softly. "I -do- love Tamahome. But..." She opened her eyes, drew in one last breath of air with Tamahome's face smiling in her mind...and then breathed out. "But, I want to be with you."  
  
She kissed him again, then, very softly, and although Nuriko was still tense and rigid against her, this time, he made no move to pull away.   
  
//I'll do this, if this is what it takes,\\ she promised silently. //Maybe, with me here, he won't have to sacrifice himself. Maybe, if he has me...he'll be able to live and let himself be happy.\\  
  
...maybe.  
  
Gods, she hoped so.  
  
~*~ 


	22. XXII: Nuriko and Hotohori.

~*~

**Chapter XXII:**  Nuriko and Hotohori.

_"Funny how your feet, in dreams, never touch the earth."_

             --Heart, "These Dreams"

---

He came awake groggily, vaguely aware that something had woken him up--alarm clock?  Somehow, he managed to drag his arm out from the warmth of the covers, slam his hand down on the bedside table.  Of course, he had to slam it down a few times before he actually _hit_ the alarm clock, but eventually, his palm connected with that lovely big snooze button, and that was that.  Already fading back into dreams, the eighteen-year-old lay back, snuggled the blankets to his chin, and closed his eyes.

And, sat bolt upright as the loud, braying sound that had woken him up was repeated.  "Whaathe?" he managed, staring at the alarm clock like it'd grown two heads.  Or, well, one head.  And, then, slowly, reality bled into his mind, and recognition followed soon afterwards.  Yawning widely, Hotohori reached to the wall, grabbed the phone from the hook, and held the receiver to his ear.

"Hello, Seishuku residence," he managed.

There was silence on the other end for a long moment, then:  "Did I wake you?"  
  


He frowned.  His mind was still a little foggy, but that sounded like...  "Nuriko?  Iya, I was just resting my eyes for a few mi--  Are you all right?  You sound strange."

There was another long pause before Nuriko spoke again.  "Something's...happened.  I didn't know who else to call."  
  


"Happened?  What happened?  Is Miaka all right?  I can be over there in ten min--"  
  


"Iie, iie.  It's nothing life-threatening.  It's just...ne, could you come over, anyway?  If you're not...busy with anything?"  
  


Hotohori frowned.  "Hai, of course.  Is Miaka still there with you?"  
  


Nuriko's voice sounded strangled all of a sudden.  "H...hai.  Demo, I need to talk to you alone, ne, Hotohori?  Could we drive somewhere, maybe?"

"All right," he agreed slowly.  "I'll be there in a few minutes."  
  


"Arrigato.  Don't ring the bell, ne?  I'll look for the car.  And...don't tell Tamahome."  

Then, with nothing more than the slight click of the phone disconnecting, Nuriko was gone.  

Hotohori sat there for a long moment, the blankets in tangles around his legs, and stared at the phone still cradled in his hand.  

Something was _very_ wrong, here, and even if it wasn't life-threatening, it was something BIG, of that he was quite sure.  And, if Nuriko's words were any indication, it had something to do with Miaka.  

Sighing softly at the recent melodrama that had been infecting every aspect of his life, Hotohori slid out from beneath the covers, planted his bare feet on the floor, and stood up.  After returning the cordless phone to its place on the wall, he padded his way over to the window, then tucked a finger into the circle at the bottom of the shade and gave it a short tug.  Sunlight flooded into the room, blinding him for a few seconds, but the light was warm and welcome on his face.  He closed his eyes.

As he stood there, bathed in the fading gold of the afternoon and trying to puzzle out the strange conversation, the door squeaked open, made way for a quiet footfall.  Hotohori glanced over his shoulder, saw a bleary-eyed Tamahome standing in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes.  

"Who was that?" the younger man managed, yawning widely.  "Miaka?"

He smiled slightly.  "Iie," he said.  "Just a wrong number.  But, that reminds me, I promised I'd bring Miaka's bookbag to her--she left it at school.  Will you be all right while I'm gone?"  
  


Tamahome nodded.  "Yeah, I'll be fine.  I'll watch some TV or something."

The dulled pain still lingered in the younger man's eyes, still flavored every word with an uncontrollable sorrow--should he really be leaving Tamahome alone, now, with the anguish of his family's death still so near and so fresh?  Should he really be abandoning him like this?  Demo...

He sighed.  Demo, Nuriko needed him.  _Ah, to be pulled in two directions..._  
  


"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised.  

Tamahome smiled a bit weakly, spoke for the first times out of the depths of weariness.  "Take your time," he murmured.  "I'm not going anywhere."

---

The BMW had scarcely come to a full stop when, so abruptly that it startled him, the front door of the house swung open, and a familiar figure stepped out.  The afternoon was just starting to fade, the sunlight growing faint and pale, while the air, still ripe with the scent of spring, was beginning to cool into evening.  As such, he couldn't help but notice that Nuriko--clad only in a satiny grey button-up, blue jeans, and faded Keds--shivered rather violently as he started down the front steps.  He was moving very slowly, very gingerly, one arm wrapped around his chest as if to hold it in place, while the other clung to the narrow metal of the banister.  Each step sent a flicker of pain jolting over those pale, clenched features.

He didn't give himself time to think.  He slammed the gearshift into park, shoved open the door, and scurried around the car and onto the sidewalk.  A few seconds later, he was at his friend's side, a careful arm slipped around Nuriko's shoulder's, supporting him.  The smaller man glanced up at him briefly in surprise, but said nothing of the action--and, Hotohori was struck by the strange blankness to his eyes, the numbed void that seemed to linger in those pools of violet, deadening any and all emotion.  

_What's happened to you, Nuriko?_

Instead of voicing his questions, however, he helped the smaller man into the car, tucked the seatbelt into place over the slim waist, then closed the door.  A moment later, he was back in the driver's seat, foot on the gas, and they were inching away from the curb.  It was only then that he dared speak.

His hands rested lightly at ten and two on the steering wheel; his eyes bored into the road with a single-minded kind of intensity.  "Does Miaka...know that you're gone?"  
  


Nuriko was silent for so long that he almost asked again--but, then, the eighteen-year-old sighed, let his head droop against his chest.  "Iie.  She doesn't know."  There was a slight pause--Nuriko's breath seemed to suddenly grow ragged.  "Demo...Hotohori..."  

He brought the car to a slow halt at the side of the road, slipped it into park with trembling fingers.  Nuriko was...  He twisted in his seat, found the smaller man with a hand pressed against his face and tears streaming over his cheeks; his voice was choked and small.  "G...Gomen ne for making you come the whole way out here," he said, very softly, his words barely distinguishable among the tears.  "I...I just didn't know...who else to..."  A tiny sob sprang from his throat, small and anguished--followed almost immediately by a sharp intake a breath, a flinch of pain.

"Nuriko..."  Hotohori stretched forward, drew the hands away from tear-stained cheeks and folded the fingers gently into his own.  "Nuriko.  Please.  Tell me what happened."

The violet eyes snapped shut, squeezed out a slender stream of tears.  "M...Miaka...kissed me," he managed.  "She said...she said that...that she loved me."

For a long moment, it was as if he couldn't breathe.  His eyes were wide and stunned, his fingers tensed to the point of growing numb.  Miaka...Miaka had said...??  "But, that doesn't make sense," he whispered.  "What about Tamahome?"  
  


His mouth clicked shut, then, and he winced inwardly.  _That doesn't make sense??  Are you -trying- to hurt him??_

But, Nuriko only nodded, drew in a shuddering breath and pressed the other hand to his head.  "I know," he murmured.  "It _doesn't_ make sense.  I just...I don't understand.  Is this..."  His voice broke.  "Is this some twisted kind of joke?"

_The anguish in that voice..._

Heart suddenly constricting, the younger man undid the clasp of his seatbelt, slid over a bit, and slipped his arm carefully behind the thin, heaving shoulders.  "Nuriko," he said, speaking as softly and soothingly as he could manage, "I'm sure it's not a joke.  Miaka...wouldn't do that to you.  To anyone."  The smaller man shuddered against him, then...and it was strange, but he could _feel_ the rising and falling of Nuriko's breathing, realized after a moment that he was instinctively slowing his own breathing into the same rhythm.  And, odd as it was, it felt..._nice_.  A warm, living body, pressing against his own--and, the joining of their breaths, the strange, inimitable feeling of unity that it brought him to be existing in perfect rhythm with another person.  It was...  Hai.  It was nice.  

And, yet--his jaw clenched--Nuriko was in pain, a brutal mixture of physical and emotional agony, and he owed it to him to be strong; to be sturdy and firm and confident, even when unsure.  Almost unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the slender shoulders, let the silken violet head rest against his shoulder.  The smaller man sank into his embrace almost weakly, clung to his sleeve and cried softly for a few moments.  Hotohori said nothing as Nuriko wept, only held him and smoothed at his hair and waited...and, after a few minutes, Nuriko calmed down.  He drew in a few shuddering breaths, lay against the younger man as if he couldn't find the energy to sit up.  And, considering the pain his injuries must be causing him, that was entirely possible.

"I'm...sorry," he whispered after a moment.  "I didn't mean to cry.  It's just...this isn't how things are supposed to happen."  His voice was very low, still thick with the tears.  "She's not...supposed to love me."  And, then, so low that Hotohori could barely hear it:  "No one is."  
  


He felt something like a chill streak through him, felt the breath seep out of him like air from a torn balloon.  It was a long time before he could speak.  "Wha...what do you mean?" he managed at last.  The words felt dry on his tongue.  "What do you mean...no one is?"

Nuriko didn't answer for a long moment, head pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder, arms wrapped weakly around the broader waist.  When he spoke, his voice was soft and slightly-muffled, so low in pitch that it was difficult to remember the grinning, winking, feminine Nuriko he'd come to feel so protective towards over the past few months.  "I can't really explain it," he murmured.  "It's a feeling.  I'm not...supposed to be loved--not like this.  It's..._wrong_, somehow.  And..."  A hint of anguish slipped into his words, drew them into a slightly-higher tone.  "And, Tamahome.  First his family, now Miaka...  I can't do this to him.  And, I just...I can't understand why Miaka would do something like this...when she loves him so much."  His voice went suddenly small.  "It's not fair."  
  


A shadow crossed Hotohori's face.  "Love rarely is."

They sat like that for a few moments in a comfortable silence, Nuriko's cheek pressed tightly to the warmth of the younger man's chest, Hotohori's arms surrounding the smaller boy in a protective embrace.  Despite the growing lateness of the afternoon, the sunlight still flickered in through the glass of windshield, bathed them in a soft, drowsy warmth.  Hotohori felt himself growing sleepy, knew that if he didn't say something soon, he would fall asleep like this...and, while he was quite sure that would be pleasant, somehow, it didn't seem like a good idea.

"Nuriko?" he said softly.

The body in his arms stirred--the gentle breathing quickened a bit in answer.  "Hm?"  
  


_Just...say it._

"Do you love her?"  
  


Pause.  "Hai."

"Do you think...she loves you?"  
  


"She...she said she did."  
  


"Why do you suppose she would say something like that unless she meant it?"  
  


"I...I don't know."  
  


"Nuriko."  
  


"Hm?"

Hotohori smiled, lifted his arms from their sheltering circle and drew the violet-haired boy out of the embrace.  "I think I'm going to have to ask you to leave Lovers of Overeaters Anonymous."  
  


A flicker of a smile touched the thin lips, brought a twinge of life into the blankness of the eyes.  They were a rosy-violet, Hotohori noticed rather suddenly.  Deep purple, flecked with alternating shades of pink and brown, bordered by thick, dark lashes--eyes like he'd never seen before.  And, although the pain still lingered in them, a shadow over the strange beauty of the colours, there was something else there, now--something new.  Something like strength.  Resolve.  Gratitude?

"Do you love her?" Nuriko whispered.  His eyes were wide, boring into the amber depths of his own with startling intensity.  

His lips formed around the word _yes_ without thought, but something in his mind skidded to an abrupt halt, broke off the word before it was said.  Did he?  Did he still love her?  A flood of memory washed over him, flavored his voice with something soft and bittersweet.

"I have for as long as I can remember," he murmured.  His eyes took on the glaze of remembrance, staring at the windshield but actually seeing into the past, into a time so far away that it felt as if it'd happened to a different person.  "I always...dreamed of finding someone to love me, even when I was just a child.   I could never...see her face in my dreams, but when I met Miaka...I knew it had to be her.  There was just something about her--that innocence, that childish belief in everyone.  I knew it had to be her."  His lips bent into a small smile.  "The dreams stopped after that--after I met her, you, all our friends.  They never came back."  Suddenly seeming to remember himself, Hotohori blinked, turned his eyes back to Nuriko and offered a weak smile.  "Gomen.  I suppose that doesn't really answer your question."  
  


"Iie...it does."  
  


And, suddenly, Nuriko was in his arms again, hugging him tightly, head nestled beneath his chin.  "Maybe it wasn't Miaka that you dreamed about," he murmured after a moment.  "Maybe it was...maybe it was the _idea_ of her.  Ne?  You just...wanted to be loved."  
  


_And, I was...wasn't I?_

Something like peace descended on him, chipped away at the pain that had encased his heart for so long.  "What are you going to do about Miaka, Nuriko?"  
  


"I...I don't know."  His grip tightened, just slightly.  "I don't want to hurt Tamahome."  
  


Hotohori was silent for a moment.  "If Miaka doesn't love him anymore," he said at last, "then, it's only a matter of time before he finds out anyway, isn't it?  And, if she loves you...and, you love her..."  His voice hardened.  "What right do you have to dismiss that love?  Did Tamahome dismiss that love when he realized that I was in love with her?  Would it be _right_ to dismiss it just because another shared in it?  Think about it, Nuriko.  Think about what you want.  And, then, go in there and be with the person you love.  When something like that is in your reach, you _don't_ push it away, not unless you're a fool.  When...when you realize that you love someone..."  He trailed off, something like illumination flickering in his eyes.  "When you realize that you love someone, you don't let anything stand between you.  Not even..."  The word trickled from his lips.  "...death."

~*~


	23. XXIII: Choosing A Fate.

The Last Wish - 23

Choosing A Fate.  

~*~

Miaka was waiting for him just inside the door when he got back, slim arms folded over her chest, eyebrows pushed so closely together that they nearly touched.  "Nuriko," she growled.  Her foot tapped against the polished wood of the entryway, made him glance at her almost guiltily.  "Where did you go?  Why didn't you tell me?  I was worried!"

The eighteen-year-old slipped carefully in through the door, slid it closed and pressed his back against it.  And, it was strange, but the weariness, the pain…it had bled from his mind, left nothing but a warm kind of peace and a strong desire to finally put the scattered pieces of his life in order.  He closed his eyes for a moment, a soft smile touching his lips.  

_Arrigato, Hotohori.  You've been a better friend to me than I've ever been to you._

"Ne, what're you smiling about?!  Nuriko!!"  Suddenly, there were hands on his arms, fingers clutching at his biceps almost fearfully.  "Nuriko, you're hurt!  What were you thinking, leaving the house like that without even telling me?  I thought something _happened!"_

His eyes slid open.  Miaka was standing there in front of him, staring up at him with wide, worried green eyes, clutching his arms as if afraid of letting go.  Had she…had she really been so worried?  And…why?  Injured or not, he _was_ an adult--he had a right to leave his own house, didn't he?  But…somehow, he knew that she'd been worried for a good reason, even if he wasn't entirely certain as to what it was.  Was she still worried that he was going to…die?    
  
Nuriko shook his head slightly, pushed the thoughts of death far to the back of his mind.  No.  No, right now, he had other things to think about--other decisions to make.

_Do I love her?_

Yes.

_Do I want to be with her?_

…yes.  

_If Miaka and I are together…is it going to hurt Tamahome?_

Yes. Definitely.

_Do I -want- to hurt Tamahome?_

No.  God, no.

_This…this isn't right.  It just doesn't -feel- right.  Miaka and me?  Mattaku, how is it even possible?  I love her, hai…but, is it really that kind of love?  Do I love her like Tamahome does…or, do I love her like I loved Kourin?  But, even if -my- kind of love isn't romantic love, what about hers?  If she really does love me…how can I hurt her?  And, yet, if I -don't- hurt her, then I hurt Tamahome!  Aaaagggggh!  How'd my life get so complicated???_

"Ne, Nuriko…"  A soft voice in his ears; a warm breath on his cheeks.

He snapped out of his thoughts a little abruptly, found wide green eyes hovering just in front of him.  The intimacy of the physical closeness--of having Miaka pressing up against him like this, her lips mere centimeters from his own--was more than a little uncomfortable, and if he hadn't had his back pressed up against the door, he might've tried to slip away. 

"Gomen ne," she murmured, smiling gently.  "I didn't mean to yell at you.  But, I was--"  A flicker of fear trickled into the forced-softness of her eyes.  "--worried.  I…"  
  
"Miaka." 

She blinked.  "Nani?"  
  
His voice was very soft, so soft, in fact, that if Miaka hadn't been standing as close as she was, she wouldn't have been able to hear him.  "Do you know when I first knew that I loved you?"

The girl shook her head wordlessly.

Nuriko smiled, touched a hand very gently to her cheek, and then bent forward and lightly pressed his lips to hers.  "Neither do I," he whispered.  "But, I know that I do, and that…if you're serious, Miaka--if you're serious about loving me…then, I'll do whatever I can to make sure that you're happy and safe for as long as you'll let me."

_For as long as I live,_ came the unspoken conclusion.

---

She was suddenly very aware of the thundering of the heart in her chest, the quickening of the breath rushing in and out of her lungs.

_He's serious.    
  
This is it, Miaka.  This is where you change things.  _

_If I'm with Nuriko instead of Tamahome, it makes things different, doesn't it?  It makes...it makes fate different.  And, if I can change this--if I can be with Nuriko instead of Tamahome, if I can change fate...then, I can change other things, too, can't I?  
  
I can...I can save them.  I can save them all._

She closed her eyes, briefly.  _I know I can._

The kitchen window was open in the next room, sending a warm, fragrant breeze trickling into the house, drawing in with it the sounds of life and nature and spring.  She drew in a deep breath, tasted salt and earth and the oil of blooming lilacs, and let it out slowly, opened her eyes.    
  
Nuriko was standing there in front of her, his back leaning against the closed door, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.  His eyes were slightly narrowed and fixed on her, the dark smudges of sleeplessness beneath them reminding her of how tired he must be, how difficult it must be for him to deal with her sudden decision when exhausted and in pain and...

She slid forward, pulled his hand into hers, and started to lead him into the living room.  Her bare feet slapped lightly against the varnished wood of the entry hall, soon softened into muted rustles as she stepped onto the living room carpeting; Nuriko followed without word or question, seeming to understand, somehow, what she intended.

And, then, she'd lowered herself onto the couch, turned so her back touched the armrest and her feet stretched out across the cushions, and drawn him down next to her.  He frowned at her for a moment, a glimmer of confusion in his eyes, but didn't speak; he let himself be pulled until he was perched on the edge of the couch cushion, his back pressing lightly against her side, his face bent towards her in search of explanation.  Just as he was opening his mouth to question, however, she lifted her arms, took him by the shoulders, and pulled him gently down beside her; he seemed to understand, then, and twisted so he was lying on his back beside her, his head pillowed on her shoulder.  

Her fingers moved automatically to his hair, smoothed it back until the silky strands of violet tickled against her throat, mixed in with her own dark hair.  "You're tired," she murmured, "ne, Nuriko?"

His head moved slightly against her.  "Hai."  
  
"Does it hurt your ribs to lay like this?"  
  
He seemed to smile.  "No.  It doesn't hurt."

A few moments of silence passed.  Glimmers of sunshine trickled in through the window above the T.V., bathed them in a wash of warm, sleepy gold.    
  


"Ne...Nuriko?"  
  
He shifted a little, swallowed.  "Hmm?"

"I..."  She closed her eyes, let herself feel, for a moment, the comforting thudding of his heartbeat, the slow rise and fall of his breathing.  "I love you."

---

He closed his eyes, fighting back the sudden mist of tears that sprang to his eyes.  They were just words.  Just simple, stupid words...and, yet, they drove into his heart like claws, cast all breath from his lungs and all thought from his brain.    
  
They were just words, but they felt like so much more...

_She loves me.  She loves me she loves me she loves me she loves me._

_Why would she say it if it wasn't true?  Why?  _

_She wouldn't.  So she must.  She must really...really..._

"I love you, too," he whispered.  His voice shook, just slightly, and it wasn't until he heard that quiver that he thought about what it meant, to say those words and mean them.  

It was a pledge.  A promise.  A bond.  To say those words and mean them...it was to promise that he would always be there for her, always protect her and be strong for her and keep her safe.  

It was to pledge that she would always come first in his life, that from now on, his needs came second to hers.

_Living for someone else...    
  
Well, ne, it's not like it's something I haven't done before._

"Ne, Nuriko?"  
  
He snapped from his thoughts, realized they'd been lying in silence for quite some time, now.  "Hm?"  
  
She cleared her throat; her voice sounded a little strained as she spoke, the words slipping almost tensely from her lips.  "You...you know the Prom is next weekend, and that...that Tamahome and I were going to go...ne?"

He closed his eyes, the mention of his friend--

_god, what's he going to do when he finds out?  how can i do this to him?  how can i do this to him???_

--making him wince in anticipatory agony, and somehow he found the strength to nod.  "H...hai."

"He...probably won't feel up to going, now, after..."  Her voice sank.  "...after what happened."

Pause.

"Do you want me to go with you, Miaka?"

"W...would you?  I mean, if Mitsukake says it's all right?"

"I..."  He paused, a sudden, crippling jolt of doubt surging through him, freezing the words in his throat.

_I can't do this.  I can't do this to Tamahome.  He loves her...and, damn it, I -know- she loves him, too!  She always has!  She has for so long...and, for that to just change, for her to just suddenly decide that she loves me, instead... _

He felt cold, his skin bathed in ice, his lungs packed with snow. __

_But, why would she lie to me like this?  Why?  I know Miaka--I've known her for long enough to know that she wouldn't do something like this, not unless she had a good reason.  _

_But, what the hell would a good reason be for something like this??    
  
_

He sat up more suddenly than he should have; his ribs screamed in protest, and for a moment, he could only sit there on the edge of the couch, gasping for breath against the pain, arm wrapped around himself.  He heard the rustle of Miaka sitting up, too, a moment later felt the warmth of her hands on his shoulders.

"Nuriko?"

His neck bent; his chin tilted towards his chest.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.  "It's just...Miaka, how can you mean it?  How?  I _know_ you love him.  I know you do.  You...you always have.  Please..."  He felt the weary tears slipping up his throat again, fought them back with all that remained of his willpower--but, despite what comfort the last flood had brought, he knew he was fighting a losing battle attempting to hold back this new onslaught.  "Please, don't do this to me."

It just...it hurt so much.  It was unfair and painful and he was so tired and why did she have to try to make him believe that things were one way when they really weren't and...  
  
"Don't...don't do what to you?"  
  
His eyes squeezed shut, and he knew that he was going to cry again.

_Who are these tears for?  Me?  Miaka?  Tamahome?  Kourin?  _

_Does...does it matter? _

"Don't make me believe this is real," he managed, "when...when it's not."

---

_It -is- real.  It is.  It has to be.  I...I can change things!  I can change who I love!  No one said I couldn't change who I love!!  _

"I-It's real.  Nuriko...Nuriko, I'm not...I'm not pretending."

He was crying.  She could feel it in the way his shoulders heaved with each breath, the way his face was bent away from her, towards the floor.  Heart twisting in her chest, Miaka slid forwards so she was sitting beside him, legs dangling over the edge of the cushions as his were, and carefully placed her arm around his shoulders, let the top of her head touch against his temple.

The sobs slipped lightly from his throat, louder because of the pain the gaspy breaths were causing in his ribs; he barely seemed to notice the presence of her arm, but of course she knew that he must have...  For a long moment, she struggled to find something to say, some magical sequence of words that would convince Nuriko that she meant it, that she wasn't pretending or making it up or toying with him...but, before she could find the strength to speak, the words were sliding from his lips, choked with tears and so low that she could barely hear them.

"I'm...so tired...of crying, Miaka.  So tired.  I always...try to stop myself, when I know I'm going to cry...but, I never can."  He shook his head; a tear fell from the breaks in his fingers, glittered gold in the light before vanishing  below them.  "I want...so badly for this to be real.  It sounds strange, but ever since I realized that I...that I loved Hotohori, there was a part of me that always just wanted to be...normal.  My parents are ashamed of me, you know.  Even...even after I stopped dressing like Kourin, I never stopped loving like her, and...they never approved.

"But, Miaka...Miaka, with you...with you, I had hope.  Because...I loved you!  I loved you as much as I ever loved Hotohori, and I thought that maybe...maybe it meant I _was_ normal.  Ne?"  He sniffled, wiped a flood of tears from his eyes and turned to look at her.  "I thought it meant that maybe I was normal all along.  I'm not...trying to say that I don't love you.  I do.  I love you and I would give anything of myself to protect you, but...Miaka, it's not _like that_ between us.  It never has been.  It's not _supposed_ to be.  You know that as well as I do, and...and, I don't know why you're doing this--I don't know why you're saying that you love me when you...when you love Tamahome--but...I'm sure you have a good reason, ne?  

"But, please.  Please.  Stop...letting me think that this is real.  Stop letting me...believe things about myself that aren't true."  
  
She shook her head, so frozen with shock and anguish that it was difficult to find breath to speak.  "N-Nuriko, I..."  
  
"Wait.  Just...just let me say one more thing."  
  


---

The tears were still swimming in his eyes, making the world blurry and dreamlike...but he felt a new strength rising in his heart, now, a new power flooding into him, giving him the courage to keep going, even though it hurt so much...

"Miaka," he breathed.  And, then, he turned towards her, very carefully, pressed his hands to the warmth of her cheeks, and kissed her.  The tears welled beneath his eyelashes as their lips pressed together, as he showed her what he knew he could never have possibly put into words.

After a moment, he drew back from her, just a little--just enough so their lips were no longer touching, so their noses were pressed together and their eyes only inches apart.  "You see it, don't you, Miaka?" he whispered.  "I _do_ love you.  And, you _do_ love me.  But..."

Her eyes were suddenly wavering with tears, her eyebrows bent upwards in anguish.  "But," she continued in the same soft, choked whisper, "it's not...it's not like that...between us."  She closed her eyes.  "Is it?"

He shook his head, rubbing their noses very lightly together.  "No.  It never was.  I...I didn't realize it until just now, but...it never was."

---

She drew her face back from his for an instant, lifted her arms and wrapped them around him and hugged him close.  Her cheek fell to his shoulder, and a moment later, she felt his arms against her back, his hair against her face.  

_It isn't fair.  It isn't fair. I should be able to change it.  I love him!  I should be able to change it..._

"I love you, Nuriko," she wept.  "I really do.  I-I wasn't lying about that, I really wasn't...I wasn't..."

He drew a deep breath; it must've hurt him, but he didn't give any sign that it did.  His palms rubbed against her back, warm and gentle and comforting.  "I know," he said.  "I know, Miaka.  I love you, too.  But...when we kiss.  When we kiss, Miaka.  What do you feel?"

...and, all she could do was say the truth.

"Nothing," she whispered.  "I...  Nothing."

"And, when you..."  His voice seemed suddenly strained.  "When you kiss...Tamahome.  What do you feel?"  
  
_Everything..._

She didn't answer, but suddenly the arms around her were tighter, the voice in her ears lower--softer.  "You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me, Miaka.  You really are.  I...I could never have pulled myself out of what Kourin's death did to me if you hadn't been there to help me through it, and...and, so I guess it's natural...that I would come to love you.  But, no matter how deeply that love might run...it's just not the same as the love I..."  He hesitated; and then, he gently lifted her from him, fingers wrapped around her shoulders, and stared into her eyes with the traces of a smile on his lips.  "It's just not the same as the love I have for...someone else."

She stared at him for a long time, gaze never wavering from those wide, strong, intelligent violet eyes, feeling so warm and so protected and so loved that, for a long time, it was easy to forget all that had been happening...all that would happen if she didn't stop it.  At last, she smiled, giving a laugh that came only slighlty choked with the tears.

"Will you...will you still go the Prom with me?"

He smiled, and with the sunlight smoothing at his features, glittering against his tears like diamonds, she couldn't help but think that he looked like an angel...

"Hai, I'll go with you," he promised, still smiling softly.  "But, just as friends, ne?"  
  
The smile touched at her own lips; she nodded, then leaned forward and hugged him again.  "Hai," she murmured, chin resting lightly on his shoulder, eyes turned towards the sun.  "Just...just as friends."

_But, good friends._

_The best of friends._

~*~


	24. XXIV: The Price of Knowledge. To Prote...

**The Last Wish - 24**

**XXIV:  The Price of Knowledge.  To Protect You.**

~*~

He'd been sitting quietly on the porch, staring at the glitters of sunlight against his bracelets, when the car pulled up.

It was about one thirty, the heat of morning just starting to settle into the lazy warmth of afternoon, and--for the first time since his injury many days earlier--Nuriko was without the rib belt.  It felt surprisingly good, to be free of the thing, despite how greatly he knew it helped with the pain--and, his ribs still hurt when he breathed too deeply, still sent a sharp pain into his chest when he twisted too much or moved too quickly.  But, it was better; he'd even gone shopping with Miaka the day before for her Prom dress, and hadn't felt the usual burst of weakness and agony at driving, walking, ducking beneath the punches of other frantic last-minute dress shoppers.  

Now, though, he felt an odd twinge of pain as he turned to see who it was who'd parked in front of the house, and--as he rose to his feet and stepped forward to get a closer look--he couldn't help but notice that it didn't come from his ribs, but...somewhere else.

He moved carefully down the porch steps, paused there at the edge of the yard with one hand resting on the banister.  

It was a sleek black sportscar, shining like obsidian in the sunlight, the windows rolled up and tinted, the driver's side door just starting to inch its way open.  He couldn't recall ever having seen it before, either at school or around the neighborhood or anywhere else, but something about it felt oddly, achingly familiar...  Frowning, he took a few more steps forward, arms folded lightly over his chest, and watched as a head poked up above the roof of the car, was followed moments later by the click-slam of the door being shut.

And, then, the driver was circling the car and moving towards him, and something like memory lanced into him.

The man was tall, towering more than a head above him, with thick, unruly hair of black and streaked grey.  The hair looked greasy and uncombed, clinging to the man's thick neck and whispering down against his shoulders; strands of it dangled over his eyes, stuck to the flesh of his forehead.  And, his...his eyes...

It was hard to tell, with the distance that still separated them, but he could've sworn they were yellow, thin and narrowed and dog-like, crowned with furry grey eyebrows that only made his heart beat faster.  Because...because, he looked like...

_A wild animal.  He...he looks like a wild animal._

The man was clad in a long dark trenchcoat that would've seemed out of place considering the heat, but which somehow looked fitting on him; it was buttoned up to the neck, leaving Nuriko's imagination to decide whether the thickeness of the arms and the chest were fat or muscle or a combination of both.

He wanted to take a long step back, flee back into the house and lock the door, but...  He swallowed.

_Miaka isn't back from seeing Tamahome yet.  She isn't back, and...and, she's gonna be coming back soon, and what if she comes back and he's still here and he hurts her and I can't do anything about it because I'm locked up in the house?  What if he hurts her??_

He frowned, wondering for a moment why it would even come into his head that this man might want to hurt Miaka.  After all, what did appearances matter?  This man could very well be one of the nicest people in the world, harmless and caring and...

_No.  _

_No.  He...he might be, but...no.  He's a danger to Miaka.  I know it.  I don't know...how I know it, but..._

_He's a danger to her.  _

The thought that the man might be a danger to _him_, too, didn't trickle into his mind until he'd already stepped forward, stopped just in front of the man, and drawn breath to speak.

"Hello," he said cautiously.  "What can I do for you?"

The man's voice was low, gravelly--like a distant rumble of thunder.  "I'm looking for Yuuki Miaka," he said.  "I was told I could find her here."

Alarm bells went off in his head.

_Told?  Told?  Who told him?  Why?  Why didn't he just go to her house and leave a message with her mom if he needed to see her?  Why come here?  Why come here to the place where we're all alone with just me and her and..._

Muscles tensing, he brought his arms calmly down to his sides, gazed into those haunting yellow eyes.  "I'm sorry, you must be mistaken.  Miaka's not here."

The man took a slow step forward; his shadow flooded over Nuriko in a wash of chill darkness, blotted the sun from his view.  "I know she's staying here," he rumbled.  "I'll wait for her to come back."

The fear was trembling through his muscles, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak, but he managed to speak anyway, and was surprised by the cool strength to his voice when he did.  "You're mistaken," he repeated icily.  "If you want to get in touch with her, give me your name, and I'll tell her you stopped by next time I talk to her."

A low, frightening growl worked its way from the man's throat, and for a long moment Nuriko was so sure that he was going to be hit that he found himself tensing for the blow...but, then, the man took a small step back, folded his arms over his chest, and smiled.  "My name is Ashitare," he murmured.  "And, I said...I'll wait."

And, then, while the sound of that name--_that name that name that NAME!_--was still shuddering through him, Ashitare turned to the left, stepped forward, and walked right by him...to the house.

The sight of that man climbing the porch steps, moving towards the door, was enough to draw him out of his shock, and he turned, moved as quickly as his ribs would allow after him.  "Wait a second!" he shouted angrily, hurrying up the steps just as Ashitare gripped the door handle.  "WAIT A SECOND.  You can't just barge into my house like that when I--"

Before he had the chance to finish the sentence or move out of the way, however, Ashitare had let go of the doorknob, spun around, and wrapped one meaty hand around the collar of his shirt.  The man hefted him up into the air so far that his toes were just barely scraping against the porch, his hands clutching vainly at the thick fingers that trapped him; no matter how he struggled, though, the grip was too strong, and he realized with a scary, sick feeling that he couldn't breathe...

And, suddenly, those yellow eyes were looming just in front of his own, and as he stared into them, choking and lightheaded and struggling against the grip, a flash of memory ripped into him, and he knew it wasn't just a coincidence...no...no...it wasn't a coincidence...  No matter how it was possible, no matter what might've caused it, this, somehow, was the same Ashitare.

_It was you._

He felt the rage bubbling in his heart, aching more thickly and more painfully than his cracked ribs, burning more intensely than his straining lungs.__

_It was you who killed Kourin._

_It was you._

Ashitare smiled.  "I tried to kill you then," he whispered.  The breath was hot and foul against his face.  "But, you moved.  You moved, and I had her, instead.  You remember, don't you?  But, don't worry.  It's all right."  The smile drew upwards, revealing a row of sharp, pointed teeth that glistened like ice in the light.  "You want to see her again...don't you, Nuriko?"

The world was starting to tilt, go dark at the edges from the lack of oxygen...but before he could pass out, Ashitare's arm tensed, pulled the dangling seishi towards him, and then hurled him violently away.  For a moment, he was flying, soaring backwards, able to breathe again and so angry that he could feel the rage burning inside of him like a flame...

...and, then, he was arcing down towards the ground, and the realization of what was coming hit into him with pain and anguish and a terrible, terrible certainty.

_I'm..._

He'd fallen on the concrete of the steps once before, when he was six years old and Kourin was still alive.  They'd been playing tag with Rokou, he remembered, and porch had been Base, and he'd come running up the walk and had tripped over the end of his shoe and fallen onto the steps.  He'd torn open his elbows and his knees with that fall, bitten his tongue hard enough to make it bleed, and had only been able to lie there, crying and in pain and bathed in blood, and wait until Kourin realized what'd happened and went to get their mother.  

But, there'd been a moment, as he watched the hard concrete rushing up towards him, grey and dark and jagged, that the knowledge of the coming pain had trickled into him, and he'd been able to brace himself against it, be ready for it.

There would, he knew, be no bracing this time, no way to prepare himself for what awaited him.

_I'm..._

Ashitare was watching him, standing there with his back pressed to the door, the trenchcoat flooding around his legs in waves of flickering black.  Those eyes were boring into his own, dark with power and an angry satisfaction, just watching...waiting...

_I'm..._

_I'm gonna die.  _

_Aren't I?_

His back hit first, just beneath his shoulder blades.  The edge of the second step.  

A sickening crunch.  Pain in his back.  Pain in his ribs.  His legs curled up reflexively, knees pressing to his chest; he tumbled backwards, rolling, feeling the resounding, deafening _thud_ of the back of his head striking into the concrete.  Arm, bent beneath him.  Leg.  Twisted painfully, slammed into the iron railing.  

And, then, the grass was cool and wet against his stomach, and everything had stopped.

Somehow, he rolled onto his side, onto his back, found himself staring up into the shifting sea of the clouds above him, unable to breathe, unable to move, only able to feel the pain and hear the creak of the front door being pulled gently open.  He tasted blood in his mouth, remembered hearing somewhere that when there was internal bleeding...

He tried to breathe, strained and struggled and managed to draw a tiny wheeze of air into his lungs.  The arm he could still use lifted up from his side, wrapped itself around his chest to push back against the pain--but, as it did so, he felt something move inside of him, felt something scrape against the flesh of his arm and knew that something was very, very wrong, that something was where it wasn't supposed to be and...

His neck bent; his gaze shifted from the sky to the tops of the trees to the pines that surrounded the yard to his feet to...to his shirt, ripped and tattered from the fall down the steps, and to the flash of bloodied white, rising up through the skin of his chest like a blade.  He stared at it for a long moment, silent and uncomprehending, not understanding what it was or why it felt like something had broken inside of him or how he could be looking at something that had been stabbed into him but from the inside, from the inside...

And, then, the pain washed over him, hot and dizzying, and he could only lay back, arm falling limply to the grass, and stare at the sky.

~*~

"Miaka...Miaka, please." 

Hotohori.

He was trying to be comforting.  Make it seem like everything was okay.

But...

She clamped both hands to her face, barely able to breathe through the tears, and leaned forward a little; the seatbelt cut into her chest, but she scarcely noticed.  

_he said he'd be fine he said he'd be fine why did he lie to me how could he why did I leave him I don't understand why I couldn't fix this why he couldn't love me what did I do wrong why can't I fix it please please don't let him be dead don't let him be dead because if he is then it's my fault because I left him and how could I be so stupid he said he'd be all right but he isn't he isn't isn't isn't_

"I shouldn't've left him," she managed, voice so muffled from the hands and the tears that even she could barely understand it.  "I-I knew it might happen but I left anyway--why did I leave?"  Her hands fell limply from her face, voice rising into a shriek that resounded from the glass of the windows, echoed back at them so loudly that the wheel jerked in Hotohori's fingers.  "Why did I leave?!?"

Hotohori turned his eyes from the road to look at her, looking as sick and scared as she felt but trying, for both of their sakes, to be strong, to deny what they both knew--what they'd both felt.  "I'm sure he's fine," he assured her, voice wavering only slightly on the words.  "I-I'm sure he is."

She shook her head, fists pressed to her mouth, eyes wide and tear-filled.  "No no no no," she whispered.  "No, he's not okay he's not he's not--I-I felt it he's not fine he's not..."

"Shh.  Miaka, it's all right.  We're almost there."

~*~

_Niisama._

He slept fitfully, as if in a dream; there was a weight on his chest, a great burning in his throat and a taste on his lips like salt.

_Niisama.  Get up.  You have to get up._

He tried to roll over, curl his legs to his chest, but found he couldn't; his mouth was dry, his eyelids as heavy as his limbs.  

_Ryuen!  Get up!  Get up, now!_

His eyes flew open; the breath surged into his lungs, and the explosion of pain that accompanied it was enough to jar him back into consciousness, into life.  

_I'm...still alive?_

The sun was bright and blinding, its heat wrapping itself snugly around his body, its light glaring in his eyes, making it hard to see anything but searing light and warring spots of darkness.  For a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut against the brightness, wanting only to slip back into the painless darkness, but...but, something stopped him.  His eyes slid open again, squinted upwards...and a chill shuddered through his body, sent a flash of barely-noticed pain flooding outwards from his chest.

_The light..._

It was as if the warmth of his own blood had surrounded him in a crimson cocoon, placed a screen over his vision that gave the world this strange, reddish tint...  But, no.  It wasn't the world, just...just that light.  That light, far above him and so brilliant that he couldn't even tell where the sun was anymore--it was warm.  And...

He drew in a surprisingly-deep breath, got his working arm beneath him, and pushed himself into a sitting position on the grass.

...she was there, wasn't she?  Within that light?  She was there.  And...she was calling to him.

"Kourin," he whispered; the word sounded weak and strange through dry, cracked lips.  

Staring into that light, that beautiful, soothing, perfect red light, it was as if all the questions he'd ever had were answered, as if every dark and secret longing of his heart had been fulfilled--as if he'd been walking around with his eyes closed all these years, and only now, at the brink of death, could see the truth.

_I'm...something more.  I'm something more than this.  I'm..._

Five minutes earlier, it wouldn't have seemed possible--it wouldn't even have seemed plausible.  But, now, with the warmth of that light inside him, the power of those convictions circling through his brain, he had the strength to twist in the grass, get the functioning leg beneath him, and propel himself forward--upward.  A moment later, he was standing, right arm clutching the banister of the bloodied stairs, right leg standing strong and solid beneath him, and even though he could hardly breathe for the pain and the sickening sensation of having things inside of him _moving_ as he went...it was all right.  Because...

_I'm...Nuriko._

_Su...Suzaku...no Shichiseishi...Nuriko._

He laughed once, very lightly, at the sound of those words in his mind, those foreign and strange and _perfect_ words that gave him everything he'd ever been missing.

_Hai.  I...I understand, now.  _

_Miaka.  We belong to you, don't we?  All of us.  Tamahome.  Hotohori.  Mitsukake.  Chiriko.  Chichiri.  Tasuki.  Me.  We belong to you.    
  
_

_To protect you.  _

_To protect you, Miaka.  It's our duty.  It's why we exist--why we are who we are and why we're with you._

_To protect you._

He closed his eyes, spent a brief moment focusing his strength on the metal that circled his wrists.  When he opened them, his forearms were cinched in steel, and the power and strength and determination that followed was enough to let him take a step, clutching the railing and using his great strength to support himself.  The broken leg screamed in agony as he moved, and he could feel the flow of blood from his chest increasing, pouring down over his stomach and darkening the fabric of his waistband.  

_Suzaku.  Please.  Give me strength._

He took another step, dragged his weakening body up with it--just three more steps.  Just three more steps, and he'd be on the porch, on the porch and close to the door and he could get inside and stop this monster before he could hurt Miaka...

_You thought this would work, didn't you, Miaka?  You thought...you could change things._

Another step.  The blood was starting to cool on his flesh in some places, to grip his skin like tiny claws.

_Your last wish...  You wanted to be with Tamahome so badly, but...you wanted to help all of us, too--ne, Miaka?  You thought this would change it.  You thought...you thought that if you changed where we were, you changed who we were--our fates.  _

Another step.  Almost there.  Almost there almost there...

_You even...tried to change yourself, didn't you?  You thought...if you changed who you loved, you would change who you were fated to love.  You...you thought it would make everything change._

Last step.  

_Baka.  You can't change destiny.  You can only...delay it for awhile._

Calmly, Nuriko limped to the door, grasped the handle, and pushed.  Ashitare was waiting for him inside, sitting at the kitchen table as if waiting for a meal.  The man rose as he entered, a flash of surprise trickling into his eyes, and spent a moment undoing the buttons of his trenchcoat; the fabric dropped to the floor a moment later, and Nuriko swallowed hard.

_Muscle.  Definitely muscle._  

"I'm not...gonna let you hurt Miaka," he managed, and was startled by how strong his voice sounded, how...deep and rich and in-control.  "I killed you, then.  I can kill you, now."  
  
Ashitare smiled at him, a low growl working up from his throat.  "Come on," he said, lifting both arms from his side and standing, unmoving, in front of the table.  "I'm waiting."  
  


The strength suddenly flooding through his body, deadening all pain and all injury, Nuriko charged.

~*~

The rest of the car ride passed in tense, weeping silence, Hotohori driving quickly but carefully, Miaka sitting curled up in the passenger seat with hands pressed to her face and tears streaking over her cheeks.  And, then, they were pulling onto the street and creeping up past the neighbors' houses and there was an unfamiliar car parked out front and through the breaks in the pines they could see--

Hotohori's foot slammed onto the brakes, sent both of them surging forwards against their seatbelts.  "Oh...oh...my God," he whispered.

Miaka had ripped off her seatbelt and thrown open the door in a matter of seconds, was racing towards the house screaming, "NURIKO!  NURIKO!!"  She stumbled as she ran, nearly falling face first on the walk, and the sight of her surging forwards like that, nearly falling, was enough to jar Hotohori from his stunned, horrified stupor, send him out of his own seatbelt and out of the car and towards the lawn.  The lawn that, even from this distance, he could see was trampled and bloodied...and, despite all that logic told him, he knew who the blood belonged to.  

By the time he reached her, Miaka had fallen to her knees in the yard, was clutching at the strands of crimson-soaked grass as if trying to rip them up out of the ground.  "Where is he?" she was sobbing, tugging at the blades and rocking back and forth on her hands and knees.  "Where is he, Hotohori?  Where is he?"

He was just opening his mouth to tell her that he didn't know when they heard it--the crash of something shattering, a scream like the howl of a...of a...

"Oh, God," Miaka managed, her voice coming out as little more than an anguished squeak.  "A...A...Ash...Ash..."

And, then, she'd leaped to her feet and was charging up the porch stairs, and Hotohori was right behind her, not understanding but knowing that Nuriko was in danger, bleeding, maybe...maybe dying...

_He's not dying!  For goodness' sake, why would he be dying?  Who would want to hurt Nuriko?  And, how would you know, even if they had?  _

As he hurried in front of Miaka, wanting to shelter her from whatever sight might await them inside, and gripped the doorknob, he couldn't help but remember the last time he'd been with Nuriko, several days earlier: holding him.  Letting him cry.  Comforting him.  Looking into his eyes and seeing...seeing someone beautiful.

_Please_, he begged, discovering that the door was slightly ajar and tensing his muscles to push it open.

_Please.  _

_Nuriko...please._

_We need you._

Then the door opened before them, and everything went grey.

---


	25. XXV: Nuriko.

_AN:  The rating has been upped to PG-13 for swearing and violence._

The Last Wish - 25 

XXV:  Nuriko.  

~*~

Nuriko was sitting at the foot of the stairs, back pressed to the banister, right arm limp at his side and left arm wrapped around his chest.  His hair, cut only a few days ago in preparation for the Prom, was tangled and matted with blood, clinging to his cheeks and pressing against his forehead and dangling against his shoulders.  He was shaking, shirt torn and bloodied, bathed in a flood of scarlet that trickled from his lips, his scraped legs and arms, the gash in his side.

And there, lying on the floor in front of him with a kitchen knife buried in his back, was Ashitare.

The house was still and silent, except for the ticking of the kitchen clock, the sickening tap of dripping blood, and the harsh in and out of Nuriko's breathing.  

They stepped inside.

He looked up at them as they entered, his head moving slowly, painfully, lashes fluttering, eyes sliding open.  The traces of a smile turned at his lips as recognition flooded into his eyes, and he lifted the fingers very slightly from his chest as if in greeting.

"Hi," he whispered.

---

_It's not fair._

Hotohori moved mechanically forward, legs stiff and uncooperative; Miaka didn't follow, but he barely noticed, unable to draw his eyes from this man...this boy...this child...this friend.  Something heavy was pressing against the back of his throat, burning with each breath, and the room looked suddenly wavery in front of him.

_It's not fair.   Things like this aren't supposed to happen.  Not to people I know.  Not to people I love._

He stepped over the motionless body on the floor and came to a jarring halt at Nuriko's side; his legs gave out beneath him before he could think of what to do, and he found himself on his knees on the floor.  He knew he should be doing something, fixing this, calling someone, making this better somehow...but, there was no strength to do anything more than sit there, choking on sobs and struggling not to cry, and stare...stare and try to convince himself that this was a dream...please...God...it had to be a dream...

Nuriko's eyes were on him, those thin dark eyebrows bent up in anguish, and it wasn't until he felt the warmth of the hand on his cheek that he realized that this sorrow was for him--for _his_ pain, and not the the older man's own.

Startled, he glanced to the side, found that Nuriko had lifted the arm from his chest, brought his hand to the younger man's cheek and touched it there, very lightly.  He seemed to be have trouble keeping it there, so Hotohori drew up his own hand, pressed it to Nuriko's and held it in place on his cheek.

Nuriko smiled, gratitude shining like tears in his eyes.  "I never got to tell you," he whispered, "about what I decided."

He was speaking softly, breathing so lightly that his chest barely moved at all.

The words felt dry on his tongue.  "Miaka...Miaka, call 911.  Call 911 _now_."

The girl nodded frantically, hands clasped over her mouth and tears streaming over her cheeks, and started to make her way towards the living room...but, stopped when Nuriko shook his head, gave a soft, "No."

Hotohori stared at him, uncomprehending, wondering if he might be delirious.  "Nuriko, we have to get help..."

But, Nuriko's eyes were clear.

"No," he repeated, more firmly.  "Miaka...come here.  Please."

She came, dragging her feet against the floor, and sat down beside him, hands dropping into her lap and eyes fixed in horror on the gash in his chest, the terrifying protrusion of bone streaking up through his flesh...

"N...Nuriko," she managed.  "Please...we have...we have to call somebody.  Mitsukake--"

"Iie," he breathed.  "Miaka...the Book.  Ash...Ashitare said...and Suboshi..."  He shook his head, eyes wide and earnest, voice soft but thick with urgency.  "You have...to stop them," he continued painstakingly.  "They're trying...to change things.  It's you.  Miaka.  If they kill you, they change it--do you understand?  You can't let them.  You can't.  If you do..."  His voice sank.  "...it's worthless."

And then he smiled, tugging his hand gently free of Hotohori's grasp, and reached out to touch her fingers.  

"It's all right," he whispered.  "It's supposed to be like this.  Ne?  Ne, Miaka?"

She was just drawing breath to answer when the door slammed open, crashed into the wall so hard that tiny pieces of plaster flaked down from the ceiling like snow.  Nuriko's eyes flickered away from hers, bent up towards the figure now standing panting in the doorway.

"Tasuki..."

The seventeen-year-old stood frozen in the doorway, shoulders heaving with each gasping breath, one hand gripping the door frame while the other hung limply at his side.  He spent a long moment standing there, silent, staring at the blood, the body, his friends, Nuriko..and, then, he took a long step inside, walked with stumbling steps to where they sat. 

"I fuckin' felt it," he said in a shaky voice.  His gaze flickered erratically as he spoke, moving from Nuriko's pale face to the growing pool of blood to the knife to Miaka to Hotohori to the floor.  He shook his head, still panting.  "I...I was at home...and I...I felt it.  I fuckin' _felt_ it..."

Hotohori turned to look at him, eyes red and swimming with tears.  "We all felt it, Tasuki."

Behind him, Nuriko drew in a slow, difficult breath, let it out in a wheezing sigh.  His voice was soft, a strangely-peaceful smile pulling at his lips.  "Don't cry," he murmured.  "I…it'll be all right."

With some difficulty, Tasuki's eyes settled onto Nuriko's face; his arms folded awkwardly before his chest, and his voice, when it came, was too loud and trembling.  "Just hang in there, wouldja?" he said, coaxing a slight smile onto his lips.  "Fuckin' ambulance'll be here soon, I bet, and they'll fix ya all up."  His gaze flickered to the other two for support.  "Right?"

There was a moment's pause; Hotohori's eyes drifted to the floor, Miaka's to her hands.

"You...you guys..."  Tasuki shook his head, taking a small step backwards; his arms unfolded jerkily, the hands clenching into fists at his sides.  "YOU DIDN'T CALL A FUCKIN' AMBULANCE??  What the hell is wrong with you!?!  He's fuckin' bleeding to death, and you didn't fucking call anybody to help 'im?!?"

The words echoed back at them from the walls, made Nuriko draw in a sharp breath, let it out in a cough.  Miaka cast him a worried glance, then turned her eyes back to Tasuki almost guiltily.  "He...he told us not to..."

"HE'S FUCKING DELIRIOUS!"  Tasuki's eyes were wide with rage; his entire body shook as he spoke.  "Miaka, you don't fuckin' not call an ambulance when somebody's fucked up this badly!!  For God's..."  He trailed off, shaking his head through a sudden mist of angry tears.  "Fuck.  I'm callin' 'em.  Hospital's twenty minutes away--can't take 'em too long to get here.  Hang in there, Nuriko, I'll get 'em here."  He turned, stomped away towards the living room...

"Tasuki?"  It was a whisper, barely audible--barely recognizable as Nuriko's.

He skidded to a halt, back going stiff and hands freezing at his sides, and, very slowly, turned back around.  Nuriko was staring at him, dried blood staining his cheeks like tears, eyes wide and clear and tearless.  "Come back."

He stood there for a few seconds, looking pained and conflicted, glancing from Nuriko to the living room and back again...  "Shit," he choked at last, and walked back to where his three friends sat.  A moment later, he'd lowered himself down just next to Nuriko, leaned his back up against the bloodied banister so their shoulders touched.  

"I'm glad...you're here this time," Nuriko murmured.  "Tasuki."  His eyes flickered to Ashitare, lying there with his nightmarish eyes frozen open, his fanged mouth stretched into a grimace that held, even in death.  "Not too bad...for an okama...ne?"

"No."  Tasuki's voice was quiet, gentle, and unnaturally-high, no longer trembling despite how labored his breathing was becoming.  "Not fuckin' bad at all."

Nuriko drew in a shallow breath through dry, parted lips, let it out a moment later with some difficulty.  His head was tilted back against the glossy wood of the banister, trickles of sweat and blood sliding down the side of his face, clinging to the end of his jaw before slipping off.  "I didn't...have a choice this time," he whispered, eyes drifting closed.  "But, then...last time...I guess I didn't either."

"Nuriko..."  Miaka's voice was choked and small, her fingers suddenly tight around his hand.  "You remember?"

His eyelashes fluttered; he looked at her, stared for so long that it seemed as if he wasn't going to answer...and, then, he smiled again, and his voice, when he spoke, was startlingly-solid.  "Hai.  And...it wasn't wrong of you, to want this.  You didn't know.  But, now...now...you do, ne?"  He gazed at her, again, the smile fading just slightly.  "No...no, maybe you don't.  But..."  He shifted slightly; his shoulder rubbed gently against Tasuki's.  "It's okay.  You will."  Nuriko smiled.  "It's...a beautiful dream...ne, Miaka?"

His eyes fell softly closed, then, the smile still playing on his lips, the fingers in her own giving one last warm, gentle squeeze.  

And, then, he breathed out...and didn't breathe in again.

They sat there for a very long time, staring at him dumbly, waiting for the next breath, waiting for the inevitable tensing of his muscles, the soft sound of his voice...but, there was nothing. 

Nothing.

It was numbing.  In the long, breathless, and shocked silence that followed, Hotohori found himself looking down at his own fingers, bending the knuckles and watching how they moved, studying the tiny creases of skin as they expanded, contracted, expanded, contracted--this was how it was supposed to be.  A warm, moving hand.  Alive.  His gaze fell to Nuriko's fingers, the memory of their warmth and their touch still solid and real against his cheek--they...they weren't moving.  He was vaguely aware of his breathing growing ragged, of something building inside of him that he couldn't explain or push back, but even as he realized that, he watched his hand stretching forward, grasping onto Nuriko's stilled fingers and lifting them, staring at them, studying them.

Such small fingers...pale...soft.  So delicate, like the slightest squeeze could break them...

They were still warm.  

And, yet...yet, they were slack and lifeless in his grasp, the fingers curled and limp, the comforting thud of Nuriko's pulse just...not there.  For a moment, frantic, he twisted the hand around, pressed his fingers to the wrist and held them there, waiting, straining.  Where...where was it?  

_No.  No, it...it has to be here._

He leaned forward, the breaths wheezing in and out of his throat, and brought a hand to Nuriko's throat, to his cheek, to the center of his chest..._no...please..._

Helplessly, he turned his eyes to his friends, found them both staring back at him with identical looks of shock and disbelief on their faces.  

And then, suddenly, there were heavy footsteps behind them, thudding through the front door and across the entryway to the stairs, and before Hotohori knew what was happening, he was being pushed gently out of the way by strong hands, found himself pressed up against Tasuki as a dark head tilted beside him...

"Mitsukake!" Miaka squeaked, eyes going wide, the fingers not intertwined with Nuriko's clutching at the doctor's sleeve.  "Mitsukake, please!  Please please, you have to--you have to--!"

The tall man, now kneeling just in front of Nuriko, cast her a brief, tense stare that seemed to calm her somewhat, and then returned his attentions to the lifeless eighteen-year-old.  "Please, give me some room," he said quietly.  

Moving shakily, Hotohori climbed to his feet, stretched down a hand to help Tasuki up--they took a few steps back, then, came to an unsteady halt with their backs to the decorative table that adorned the wall by the door.  A glimpse of movement from the corner of their vision caught their attention, then, and both men turned to see a tall, slim man with fluttering blue bangs enter the house, clad in a large blue dress shirt and slacks.

_Chichiri,_ a voice inside of Hotohori whispered.  One of Mitsukake's friends...

As he watched, Chichiri slid forward, moved to Miaka who still hadn't released Nuriko's hand or stood up, and kneeled beside her; his hand touched lightly at her back, his eyes drew hers up from the blood and the horror.  "Miaka," he said gently.  "Let go of Nuriko's hand."

And, she did.  Chichiri drew her up, then, and led her to Hotohori's side; the younger man placed an arm around her shoulders when she reached him, pulled her close.

_This isn't real._

Mitsukake had moved to Nuriko's right side, placed his arms carefully beneath the small man's waist and shoulders and was now lowering him onto his back on the floor.  Once there, he brought his head down to just above Nuriko's lips, eyes facing the stilled chest, and listened; next, his fingers went to Nuriko's neck, held them there for perhaps a full second...

Hands shaking only slightly, Mitsukake brought a palm to Nuriko's forehead and tilted his head back a little, then pinched the younger man's nose shut and pressed his mouth to Nuriko's lightly-parted lips; the healer gave three long, full breaths--Nuriko's chest rose and fell in answer.  And, then, he was tearing the tattered shirt down the center, exposing the flat, bloodied chest--he brought the palm of his right hand down over the top of his left, gripped it through the breaks in his fingers, and--sliding it carefully into place as if searching for the correct location--pressed the bottom of his left hand to the center of Nuriko's chest.  

_Push_.  "One."  _Push.  _"Two."  _Push.  _"Three."  _Push.  _"Four."  _Push.  _"Five." 

He sat back then with a huff of air, bringing his fingers again to Nuriko's neck, his ear to just above the pale, parted lips.

"D-Did it work?"  Miaka's voice, too high and barely audible, cut in through the silence, jarring as a scream.  "I-Is...is he..."

Mitsukake glanced back at them, eyebrows pressing together on his forehead, and drew a ragged breath.  "No," he said.  "And, I'm not certain that this will work.  Since...since he's sustained injuries to his chest, the C.P.R. could be doing more harm than good, but..."  His eyes slid closed; a line of anguish streaked down the bridge of his nose.  "I'll keep trying."

The healer turned back to Nuriko, began the cycle again; Miaka pressed her face to Hotohori's chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist--and, even though his arms were deadweights at his sides, the eighteen-year-old somehow managed to hold her with them, to rub mechanically at her back.  

"Shit," Tasuki whispered, gathering the stares of Hotohori and Chichiri.  "Doesn't...doesn't fuckin' seem real."  His eyes were wide and fixed on Mitsukake's back, unblinking even as he spoke.  "But it is...isn't it?"

A soft breath fell from Chichiri's lips, lay like a sigh in the air between them.  "I'm afraid so, Tasuki," he said softly.  "But..."  He frowned.  "Something...something about this..."

"...feels familiar," Hotohori breathed.  

"Of course...it's familiar."  Miaka's words rose to them in sobs, muffled by the tears and Hotohori's shirt.  "It...it happened...then, too..."

They were silent for a long time, no sound but Mitsukake's steady counting and the hiss of air into Nuriko's stilled lungs.    
  
"What...what the fuck is she talking about?" Tasuki whispered at last.

Hotohori shook his head wordlessly, gaze returning to Mitsukake...

_No.  Nonono, wait.  Wait.  No._

"M-Mitsukake?  Why...why did you stop?"

_My voice doesn't sound right.  Too high.  But no.  Nononono, why is he stopping why why?  He can't...he can't stop.  Not yet..._

The healer was sitting, motionless, beside Nuriko, hands folded in his lap, back trembling slightly, head tilted downwards.  "I'm...I'm sorry," he choked.  

There was a long, stricken silence.  And, then, Tasuki swallowed hard, glanced at his friends briefly before turning his eyes back to the doctor.  "W...whaddya mean...you're sorry?" he managed.  "Whaddya mean?  Huh?  Huh, Mits?  Whaddya mean?"

_He looks so...betrayed. _

Somehow, Hotohori pushed past the deadening pain, drew a breath to speak that didn't end in a sob.  "Thank you...for trying, Mitsukake."  His mouth felt dry, the words cold and hollow; Miaka was rigid against him, her shoulders tense and shaking.

He realized, then, that Tasuki was staring at him with hatred and betrayal in his eyes, trembling with a rage he himself was beginning to sympathize with.  "Th...thanks for tryin'?" the younger man echoed in a shaky voice.  "That's all you're fuckin' gonna say?  Thanks for fuckin' trying, better luck next time, g'bye?  Doesn't it fuckin' matter to you that...that..."  His eyes squeezed closed; it wasn't until they opened again that the silent tears rolled out, trickled down over his cheeks.  "...that he's _dead?_"

_Dead._

_Dead dead dead dead dead._

_Nuriko? Dead?  How?  
  
How?_

_Dead._

The word was like a blow, slamming into him, knocking the wind from his lungs.  By the time he regained the strength to breathe, he was crying and the breath was a sob, and his knees were weak beneath him and he and Miaka were on the floor, clinging to each other, and Tasuki was there, too, clutching him in a tight hug and sobbing into his shoulder, and somehow somewhere Tamahome arrived, folding himself into the embrace like a child between his parents and then Chichiri was on his left and Mitsukake was just behind Tasuki and when Chiriko came in they were complete, they were complete, but not...not...

_Nuriko...God...Nuriko..._

_Nuriko._

The six remaining Suzaku seishi and their miko clung together on the floor, inches away from their fallen friend, and no one spoke for a very long time.

~*~

AN:  *CRRRRRRRRRRRRIES*  I didn't want toooooooo!!!!! I swear!!  I didn't want toooooooo!!!  *criescriescries*  B-But... *lip wavers* ...f-for the plot...it has to go like this.  I'm sorrrrrryyyyyy...!! g.g  *CRIES*  

*sniffle*  Ahhhhh, but much thanks to Mouse-chan for her help on this chapter--seriously, you were indispensible--and, of course, it was nice to have someone to cry with. ^_^()  Anyway.  Next chapter, expect appearances from the Seiryuu seishi, as well as the a...aftermath of...of N...N...  *hides under desk and cries*  Y-Yeah...next chapter...coming soon.  g.g  *goes off to cry*


	26. XXVI: Pale Reflections. Mourners.

_The Last Wish  - Chapter 26_

~*~

_"__Goodnight my sun  
Goodnight my friend  
Rest your soul at this  
Long day's end..._

_Dream of summer skies  
Sunset is bound to each sunrise  
Rest is your first right  
My friend, goodnight."_

--Vertical Horizon

~*~

Finally, it was Mitsukake who disconnected himself from his friends, drew himself up, and swept the tears from his cheeks.  He stood there for a long time, silent and unmoving above his weeping companions, his eyes locked on the stilled, bloodied form of Nuriko on the floor.

He had always...been so beautiful.  Pale, flawless skin, eyes as vibrant with color and life as Nuriko himself was--but, now...  A slender line arced through the healer's brow, dredging the grief back into his throat.  

But, now, Nuriko's skin was marred with blood and sweat and dirt, freckled with blotches of darkening crimson; his hair was tangled and matted, clinging to his pale skin, and whole tufts of it were stained brown with blood.  His clothing, always kept so perfectly-ironed and clean, was tattered and torn, and gods, the blood...  The blood was everywhere.  

Before he knew what he was doing, Mitsukake found himself walking away from his friends and moving the few feet to where Nuriko lay; he didn't know what he planned to do when he got there, nor why he had the strange impression that he _could _do something...but, then, suddenly, he was kneeling beside Nuriko and his hand was stretching out, palm downward, and he was closing his eyes and focusing his energy and...

_Red.  Red glow.  Coming from...from me?_

It was a warm sensation in the middle of his chest, as if he were drawing energy from the very center of his being; it funneled outwards from there, tingling through his limbs and circling in his brain and pooling, finally, in the palm of his hand.  There, he felt the energy leave him, felt it wash out through his skin and flood downwards.  His eyes slid open, then, and he watched in astonishment as the painful protrusion of bone in Nuriko's chest folded inward, mending back into place.  The tiny cut in his lip cinched together, squeezing lost blood back to where it had come, even as the gashes and scrapes that streaked down over his arms and legs melted away and were replaced with smooth, pale, flawless skin.  Nuriko's hair fluttered back from his face as if blown by an unseen wind, flecks of dirt and blood vanishing from the silken strands of violet; even the white cotton dress shirt he'd been wearing was being stitched back together, the buttons rolling over the hardwood floor and leaping back into place.

When it was done, Mitsukake sat back, breathless and amazed, and stared for a long moment at his hand--at the symbol that blazed from it like fire, sweeping the energy back into him, back to his center.

There was movement behind him; he became aware, after a moment, of the presence of his friends just past his shoulder, but neither he nor they spoke for a very long time.  

Because...Nuriko was beautiful, again.

The blood was gone, smoothed away to reveal nothing but soft, flawless skin, pale but still warm enough with life that it...it almost looked...

"It looks like...he's just sleeping," Chiriko whispered.

Mitsukake turned, stared the boy directly in the eyes.  The others stood with him, their skin flushed and moist with grief, their arms still intertwined as if afraid of letting go, but the healer barely noticed them, seeing only the boy that he loved as a son.  He was so young...  Mature for his age, yes, but so damnably young.  For him to have to be exposed to something ike this, for him to have to be forever ingrained with this image of death at such an early age...  

_No one should be subjected to this—no child.  But, he came by himself, didn't he?  Just a child..._ Something tensed angrily within him.  _What's the difference, anyway?  One child witnesses it...and another child suffers through it.  Eighteen.  He was just a child himself..._

Even with the start of righteous anger within himself, however, the first thought was not so easily pushed away.  Chiriko, who had never met any of these people before, and who certainly held no emotional connection to Nuriko at all, had come here, and had cried with them, and no one had questioned it.  And yet, even knowing this, it didn't seem strange to him, no matter how desperately he tried to convince himself that it _should_.  It simply didn't.  Chiriko had known, just as he'd known.  Just as...just as they'd _all_ known. 

_How?  How did we know?  What is it that binds us to Nuriko--to each other?  How did we all...feel this?  And, how--when some of us barely know each other--can we cling together like this, like we're part of...of a family...and not feel awkward or strange?  How can it feel as if I've known these people for all of my life when I haven't--when I barely know some of them at all?  _

His eyes fell again to the palm of his hand, still warm with the touch of the glowing symbol but empty, now--smooth and unmarked.  

_This.  Something...something with this._

_We're a part of each other somehow, aren't we?  All of us.  And..._

"Miaka," he rumbled.  He raised his hand, palm outward so the flesh where the symbol had been would be visible, and turned to look at the girl.  She was still clinging to Hotohori but was standing on her own, now, and was staring at him with something like hope in her eyes.  "You...know something about this.  Don't you?"

She didn't asnwer, though, and it wasn't until the soft sob rose from her throat that he realized that now was no time for questioning, that he and these people were about as near to mental and emotional exhaustion as it was possible to be without collapsing.  Chichiri realized it, too, he knew--their gazes met for perhaps a second, the blue-haired man standing just behind Tasuki with a hand on the younger man's shoulder, and the understanding was clear in his eyes.  

Chichiri gave a slight nod.  "Come on," he said gently.  "Miaka, Tasuki, Chiriko--I'll drive you home.  Let...let Mitsukake deal with things here."  The man's dark eyes flickered to Hotohori and Tamahome, who were keeping Miaka upright with their combined support.  "Tamahome, how did you get here?"

The seventeen-year-old brought a hand up to his reddened eyes, rubbing at each of them in turn for a moment before answering.  "I...I drove.  I can--"  He cleared his throat, then drew a deep breath that seemed to strengthen him.  "I can take Miaka home."

"No," the girl whispered.  "Not...not home. Please..."

"My house, then," Hotohori said.  "There are enough beds for everyone, and--"  His voice went soft, his gaze drifting painfully to Nuriko.  "I think we all have some things to talk about."

Chichiri nodded.  "Hai.  Maybe you should take Tamahome and Miaka back with you, then, and I--"

"No," Hotohori interjected suddenly.  He blinked, looking startled at the vehemence in his own voice...but, then, the expression softened, and he turned towards Chichiri with pleading eyes.  "I-I'd like to stay here.  Nuriko...shouldn't be left like this--on the floor, I mean.  I...I'd like to stay here.  If no one minds."

Mitsukake rose to his feet, brushing his hands against the front of his jeans despite the fact that the cleansing wind had drawn even the most minute pieces of dirt from them.  "All right," he conceded, his voice a low rumble against the silence.  "All right.  Hotohori and I will stay here and...take care of things.  Tamahome, Chichiri..."  The healer closed his eyes, a slender line of anguish streaking through his brow.  "Take them out of here.  We'll follow whenever we can."

~*~

After the others had left, Mitsukake mumbled something about calling the police and left for the kitchen, leaving Hotohori standing alone in the entryway, arms folded over his chest and shoulders shaking.  He wasn't crying—not anymore—but there was a chill in the air around him, shivering up his spine and trembling through his limbs.  He felt weary and exhausted, as if he'd just run a marathon and his pulse was only now starting to slow, and his cheeks were still wet with tears, the moisture crawling over his skin until he longed to scratch his nails against his cheeks and—

_Hotohori.  Saihitei.  Get control of yourself.  Falling apart isn't going to help anyone.    _

Sighing, the eighteen-year-old dropped to his knees on the floor, hands rising to press against his eyes as he moved.  He was so tired...  His jaw clenched.  But, he couldn't leave Nuriko here, lying there like a forgotten rag doll...no.  No, he couldn't leave him.  Not now.  

_Not this time._

Swallowing hard, Hotohori forced his eyes to open, his muscles to battle their fatigue and work again.  For a moment, the old ache started up in his heart at the sight of his friend lying lifelessly on the floor, hands folded lightly over his chest and eyes so lightly closed that it truly seemed as if he were just sleeping...

_Control.  Please.  Please, control!_

Trembling, he slid forward, carefully got one arm beneath Nuriko's shoulders and the other beneath his knees, and lifted.  The fabric of the older man's shirt was cool and soft against his skin, the warmth of the body beneath it already faded to almost nothing--it really _was_ like lifting a doll, and the thought of Nuriko reduced to nothing but a _body_, nothing but an object to be hefted around, was nearly enough to send him over the edge again, into the flood of tears that was creeping up his throat, choking him--

_Control.  Control control control!  Don't you dare cry again.  Don't you dare!_

He bit down hard on his lip and tasted blood, and it seemed to help.  Sucking in a few deep breaths through his mouth, he tensed his arms and—letting his right arm slide down to better support Nuriko's knees—brought the lifeless body to his chest and stood up.  One slim hand loosened from its place on Nuriko's chest and fell to the side as he moved, dangling down towards the floor; Hotohori nearly lost his grip trying to put it back into place, but finally managed, and was forced to spend a moment breathing heavily, a panic he didn't entirely understand coursing through him, before he could start towards the staircase.  

Finally, though, he was moving, and even though the burden in his arms was very light, each step was labored and shaky, jolting up his legs and into the pit of his stomach until he thought he might be sick.

It seemed like an eternity passed with him plodding from one step to the other, the breath rasping painfully in and out of his lungs, silken tendrils of Nuriko's hair whispering against his arms until he wanted to scream.  At last, though, he found himself standing at the top of the stairs, facing a long, sparsely-decorated hallway of closed doors, and the normality of the sight calmed his breathing somewhat. 

_It's all right. It's all right.  Calm down.  Please.  Calm down and start walking.  The sooner you walk, the sooner this...will be over._

The carpet, a plush beige that matched with the low-hanging ceiling, seemed to sink away beneath his feet, leaving shoe-shaped imprints beneath every step he took.  He'd only taken a few, however, before the sight of the first door—set on the left, and painted a smooth, flawless white by Nuriko himself--brought him to a jarring halt, sending a new, terrible chill trembling up his spine. 

_His...his parents.  My God, they don't know.  They don't know!  Someone has to call them...  _

He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of the smiling family portrait on the living room coffee table lancing through his mind like a dagger.  Tears formed in his eyes, trickling down over his eyelashes before he could push them back, and for a moment, it was all he could do not to collapse to the floor and break down—it was certainly what he _wanted_ to do.  Because, gods...gods...how horrible, to go out of town to see one son, and return home to find the other...

_They've already lost one child.  How can they possibly handle losing another?  _

Trembling, he opened his eyes and hurried down the hallway towards Nuriko's bedroom, his features contorted in anguish; tears, shaken free by his movements, trickled down his cheeks and burst on his lips, giving each step the taste of salt and misery.  

Finally, though, he reached the door and maneuvered his way into getting it open; a cool, lavender-scented breeze, stirred mostly from the open window, washed over him immediately, and suddenly he was shaking so violently that it was all he could do not to collapse or drop Nuriko or both.  Somehow, he staggered to the bed—the sheets were a mess, two pillows propped against the headboard with the imprint of Nuriko's shoulders still pressed into them—and released his burden onto it, but the moment his arms were free, he lost all balance and tumbled to the floor.  His arms caught on the edge of the mattress, keeping him from collapsing totally, but his knees struck hard against the thin carpeting, sending a flare of pain flooding through his legs, and he was crying before he even realized that he'd needed to.

Shaking, Hotohori pressed his forehead to the side of the mattress and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears.  It didn't stop them, and neither did it still the violent sobs from shuddering through him, but it stopped him from seeing Nuriko lying there on his bed, one arm at his side and one against his heart, looking for all the world as if he might wake up at any moment, blink a few times and smile and—

His nose burned, and his cheeks felt hot with the tears; every breath—shaky, and drawn only in between sobs--tasted of salt.  He was irrationally glad that the crying clogged his nose, because the sheets against which his face was pressed had the same soft scent of lavender that Nuriko himself did, and catching even a whiff of that scent only further deepened the sense of loss within him.   Because, Nuriko was gone.  Forever.  No matter how long he thought about it, it just didn't make any sense—it spun in his mind like a math equation that he just couldn't puzzle his way through, leaving him frustrated and confused and weary.  How could someone be there one moment, and then _gone_ the next?  How could one afternoon change _everything?_

_How could I not have been there when you needed me?  Nuriko?  If I'd been here, I might've made the difference—with the two of us, it might've been enough!!  Why did you take him on alone?  Why?  I just don't understand..._

"It's not fair," he whispered through the tears, clutching the fallen blankets with two white-knuckled hands.  "It's not..._fair_..."

_ I'll go to school.  I'll go to school, and you won't be there, will you?  I'll...I'll go to the Prom, and you won't be there.  Graduation.  You won't be there, will you, Nuriko?  You won't be there. _ 

Anger balled in his muscles, sending his fingernails clenching into his palms through the blankets; the flash of pain was welcome, though—because, gods, it wasn't _fair._  Nuriko had suffered.  Nuriko had _died._  And, why?  For what?  For nothing!  All because some goddamned lunatic had...what had he done, anyway?  Why?  It was all so senseless...  

_That's why it makes me so angry.  Because it didn't _have_ to happen.  It didn't have to happen!  So, why did it?!_

Trembling with rage, now, instead of grief, Hotohori opened his eyes and climbed to his feet, scrubbing at his wet cheeks with his fists.  Staring out the open window with hands clenched at his sides, mouth working silently in anger, it was a long time before he became aware of the burning on his neck, stirred into being by the depth of the grief and anger within him--or of the crimson glow that was sliding along the bottom of his vision like blood.

_Like...blood._

The rage melted from his body, leaving him feeling drained and spent.  Slowly, each step more labored than the last, he made his way to the vanity that sat against the wall opposite the bed and—with only a slight, fearful hesitation—peered into the mirror.  

And it was there, right where he'd known it would be.  Eyes wide, he leaned forward slightly, bringing two fingers to the left side of his neck as if checking his pulse, and watched his reflection touch a clearly-written, glowing red symbol rising from the flesh of his neck.  

_When...when you saved Suboshi..._

His gaze drifted, in the mirror, to the reflection of the bed, and to the still form that lay there.  "When you saved Suboshi," he whispered, "you had...on your...on your chest..."

It seemed, abruptly, as if the mirror shimmered, like a pebble skipped across the surface of a still pool of water.  The glass itself didn't move, but it seemed as if the reflection _itself_ wavered, rippling outwards until everything within it resembled a twisted carnival mirror...and then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the movement stopped, and everything went still again.  

He was still frowning at the glass, bringing a hand up to touch against it, when all of a sudden the image of Nuriko behind him shifted, stirred, and _sat up._

Frozen in shock, he could do nothing but stare. The thought of turning around never occurred to him; his hands fell limply to his sides, the breath seeming to freeze in his chest, even as he watched the Nuriko in the mirror yawn and stretch his arms over his head, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the touch of sleep from his vision.  Then, as if just noticing that he was not alone, Nuriko turned, noticed the younger man standing at the vanity, and smiled.  

It was too much.  Tears built again in his eyes, slipped down onto his already-wet cheeks.  

The smile faded immediately from the other man's face; Nuriko's slim eyebrows raised, vanishing beneath the violet whispers of his bangs, and as Hotohori watched through a wavering wall of tears, the slender man drew himself up from the blankets, planted his feet on the floor, and circled the bed.  There was something strange about the way he was moving—aside, of course, from the fact that he was moving at all.  His arms seemed to lift too easily, his legs to slide forward too gracefully.  It seemed, rather, as if he were in danger of floating upwards with each step, like footage of an astronaut adapting to the gravity of the moon, and it seemed only as if the determined expression on his face kept his feet continually returning to the carpet.

"Hotohori-sama?"  Despite the fact that the older man stood just behind him, so close that he could've reached back and touched him, he didn't feel even a hint of displaced air or movement.  He heard the slow intake and exhale of breath, the rustle of skin against fabric, but it all seemed to be coming to him from the image in the mirror, not the world behind him.  

_It's not real.  It's not real, is it?  It's not real._

Nuriko's features smoothed into a soft smile, and—as he watched, through the mirror—the small man took one more step forward, stretched out his arms, and wrapped them tightly around Hotohori's chest.  And real or not, a dream or not...he _felt_ it.

"Kourin once told me," he murmured, cheek pressed to the younger man's back, "that just because something is a dream, that doesn't mean that it isn't real.  I never knew...what she meant, until now."

There were so many things he needed to say—so many things he wanted to ask, to know...  But when he opened his mouth, the warmth of Nuriko's body surrounding him in a comforting embrace, all that came out was, "Nuriko...I'm so...I'm so sorry."   
  


The other man stirred slightly against him, chest rising and falling in a slow, regular rhythm.  "Don't be sorry," he replied after a moment, sounding as if he were smiling again.  "I saw her, Hotohori-sama.  And I...I died protecting Miaka, just like I did then.  Just like...just like we _all_ did."

It didn't come back to him then—not all of it.  But there was a feeling, starting deep in the back of his mind and rising, and it felt so _familiar_ and _right_, and even as he thought that he might know why he recognized that feeling, there was something like a memory flashing before his eyes, and all thought faded off into it.  

_There was a room, rising up around him with high walls and a smell that could only be described as _ancient_, and there was something resting on the top of his head, so light but so heavy...  "...to Kutou by her_self_?" he was shouting, and he knew that only the high collared robes were keeping the blazing symbol from showing itself to everyone.  _

_He lifted his eyes from the clenched hands in front of him, drawing his gaze up from the scarlet carpet and the oddly shaped shoes adorning his feet, and although there were many others in the room with him, all of his attention went to the slender, kneeling form in front of him.  A long carpeting separated them, but there was no mistaking the soft violet hair, plaited into a long braid that whispered against the floor, or the voice that came next, soft with apology but still warm, somehow..._

_"Sumimasen, Heika.  We were with her..."_

It faded out, then, sliding back into the depths of his mind like a curtain falling, but it left him with the knowledge that somehow, somewhere, he was something more than this—something more than this body and this life.  He was something..._more._  And so, he realized with a soft breath, was Nuriko.   

The thought had barely occurred to him before Nuriko laughed, very softly, and squeezed him tightly.  "It's a start," he said approvingly.  "You don't have to remember it all, Hotohori-sama.  I don't think it'd help you very much even if you did.  But, Hotohori-sama.  Saihitei."  His voice went suddenly serious, and when the younger man brought his eyes back up to the mirror, he found his gaze met by two large, intense violet eyes.  Nuriko's arms still wrapped around his chest, strong and comforting, but the eighteen-year-old had lifted his head so his chin rested against the back of Hotohori's shoulder.

"Saihitei," he repeated in a near-whisper, and this time Hotohori was sure he _could_ feel the warmth of the breath against his ear.  "It isn't over yet.  Miaka is still in danger, now more than ever, and even though I saved her...then..."  He shook his head.  "She needs you, Hotohori-sama.  She needs you as much as she ever did--maybe more.  Even if you don't understand why, you have to stay with her and protect her, or they might succeed, and then..."  He shook his head.  "We can't let that happen."

"Nuriko..."  His voice sounded choked; he forced some more strength into it, but it still sounded weak and small, like a child's voice.  "I promise.  Of course, I promise  But--"  He closed his eyes, breathing raggedly to try to push back the tears.  "I miss you," he whispered.  "It's...it's not fair, what happened."

"I know," Nuriko said softly.  "Ne, Hotohori-sama...keep your eyes closed, for a minute."

He nodded, shoulders shaking, and soon felt slender hands on his shoulders, turning him away from the mirror.  Arms slid gently beneath his armpits, hands slipping forward to turn soothing circles against his back, and a warm body was suddenly in his arms, whispers of silken hair tickling against the bottom of his chin.  The touch, so tender and loving, drove all inhibitions from his body, all thoughts of self-control from his mind, and for the third time in one day, he broke down and cried.   Nuriko only held him more tightly as he sobbed, rocking slightly back and forth and murmuring comforting words, hands rubbing slow circles against the younger man's back.

"Shh," Nuriko whispered.  "Shh, Hotohori-sama.  It's all right.  It's all right.  I'm here."  
  


There came the sound of a fist rapping against the open door, followed by the rustle of fabric and the muffled thud of boots on carpet.  "Hotohori?"  A deep, concerned voice--Mitsukake. 

_No.  No, I can't...I can't open my eyes...because if I do, you'll be gone.  If I do, you'll be gone! I can't--!_

"Hotohori-sama," Nuriko murmured, and his voice suddenly seeming to be coming from much farther away than it should've been, "I'm already gone.  You can't..."  A smile touched his words.  "You can't lose me twice.  But, ne, I'll still be around, even if you can't see me.  And I'll see you again.  Hopefully not...as soon as last time.  Remember what I said, Hotohori-sama.  Remember..."

"Hotohori, are you all right?"

Desperation, chill as ice, nearly made him cry out.  _No, please...please, Nuriko, don't go...!  I'm sorry!  I'm sorry I wasn't here and I'm sorry I never told you but I always loved you even if it was just as a friend so please don't go!  Please..._

He felt hands on his shoulders, with thick fingers and a grip that could've jarred him from the deepest sleep.  Real hands, and a real voice, rising from a throat that had, like his, been pinched all too recently with grief.

"Hotohori, please answer me.  Can you hear me?  It's Mitsukake.  Hotohori, open your eyes!"

_Goodbye, Nuriko..._  
  


Heart aching with loss, Hotohori inhaled, exhaled, and then let his eyes slide open.  Mitsukake was standing there in front of him, strong hands on his shoulders and brows pressing together on his forehead; his eyes were wide with concern and a trace of fear.  As their gazes met, the older man gave a sigh and relaxed, his arms dropping back to his sides.

"I'm sorry," the healer said.  "I...I saw you standing there, and for a moment I thought--"  He shook his head.  "It seemed as if...you were somewhere else."  
  


He could still feel the warmth of Nuriko's arms around him, the soothing touch of his hands...

Letting his gaze drift to the bed, where Nuriko's body lay lifelessly among the blankets and pillows, he brought a hand to his heart and held it there.  "It's all right," he said, still feeling weary but somehow stronger, now, as if he'd come a very long way...but had somehow found himself somehow right where he was supposed to be.  It felt good.  It felt like _home_.  "Have you called the police?"

The healer blinked, looking surprised at the sudden collection in the younger man. After a moment, however, the surprise passed, and he nodded.  "Yes.  They should be here shortly."

"Good."  He hesitated.  "Mitsukake..."

"Hai?"

"I...I'm going to try to call his parents.  Could you--"  He flushed, glancing down at the carpet before finding the words to continue.  "Could you...stay with him, while I'm gone?"  

There was a slight pause, then Mitsukake's hand rose from his side and gripped onto Hotohori's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.  "I will," he promised.  "Take as long as you need."

As the younger man left the room, he heard the rustle of Mitsukake moving to the chair by the bed, followed by the creak of the tall doctor lowering himself into it.  He couldn't help but wonder, as he stepped out into  the hallway, if Nuriko might be walking with him now, steadying his steps and helping the strength to seep back into his muscles.  Passing a circular mirror hanging on the opposite wall, he thought he caught a glimpse of violet hair, and smiled.

_You're here, aren't you?  _The hand touching his heart clenched, as if holding something close.  _Always..._

His steps were easy and light, his shoulders untensed for the first time in an hour, as he made his way down the staircase.  He wasn't sure just what it was he was going to say to Nuriko's parents when he talked to them, nor how he would possibly find the words to relay such a horrible message, but he was committed now, and he knew, somehow, that if he faltered, Nuriko would be there to help him and strengthen him.  He was just considering how he was going to begin when the front door swung suddenly open, and Hotohori found himself coming to a shocked halt at the foot of the stairs.

Three people stood there in the archway, all looking pale and drawn and weary.  The one in front, a handsome blond man in his late twenties, stood head and shoulders above the other two, and it was clear from the way he stood—arms folded over his chest, ice-blue eyes surveying the scene with a cool composure—that he was the leader.  He wore a loose-fitting white dress shirt and black pants, high-legged boots wrapping everything below his knees in leather.  Just behind him, flanking him like some sort of honor guard, stood a young woman with long, braided auburn hair and a form-fitting sundress, and a blue-eyed boy of about fifteen.

He knew their names.  Perhaps he shouldn't have—at least, not the other two—but he did.  Nakago.  Soi.  Suboshi.  Something deep inside of him warned him that they were the _enemy_, not to be trusted--but, they looked so lost, somehow...  

No.  No, not lost.  They looked...stricken.  

Nakago's voice was deep but soft; his words sounded more weary than anything.  "If it gives you any peace of mind to know," he said quietly, "this was not what we intended to happen.  This—"  One hand lifted from his side and gestured to the still form of Ashitare on the floor.  "--is what we were trying to avoid."

Knowledge, chill and certain, flooded into him.  "You sent him," Hotohori whispered.  "You sent him, to kill..."  

Nakago's eyes narrowed dangerously. "No," he said in a low, deadly voice, "I did _not_ send him.  His death was the first then, and it is the first now.  Do you have any idea what that means?  No," he continued.  "I would never have sent him, knowing that the one who killed him then was here.  I take it--"  His voice actually took on a tone of sympathy, and despite the fact that Hotohori knew he had never met this man before today, it sounded decidedly strange coming from him.  "I take it he was killed, as well?"

Pain in his eyes, Hotohori inclined his head slightly.

...and much to his surprise, Suboshi brought a hand to his face and suddenly looked as if he were trying to blink back tears.  "No," he moaned.  "No, it's my fault—I started it with...with the car...  We're all gonna die, aren't we, Nakago-sama?"

Face contorting in empathy, Soi moved to the boy's side and put an arm around his shoulders.  "Shh," she soothed.  "No one's going to die."  
  


"We may yet," Nakago said in a tight voice.  "We'd thought--"  His eyes lifted, again, to study Hotohori's face, and when he spoke, it was in a low, dark murmur.  "We'd thought it was over then, when the sister was killed rather than your friend.  But, it wasn't.  I suspect she died the first time, also.  The means were different, no doubt, but the event...  It was set, just as the death of Ashitare's wolf form was.  Perhaps--"  A hiss of breath slipped through his lips, his hardened features seemingly oblivious to the boy crying quietly behind him.  "Perhaps it truly is impossible, to alter fate."  His eyes suddenly blazed.  "But, we will keep trying.  It is nothing against you, or against any of your friends.  It is something we must do, or we will die.  Surely even you can understand that, Saihitei."

Hotohori felt his eyes widening.  "How...how did you—"

Nakago sighed, all strength seeming to bleed from his muscles.  "No matter," he said quietly.  "Another explanation wasted on the ignorant.  Soi, Suboshi—come."

After only a moment of hesitation, during which Suboshi scrubbed frantically at the tears bathing his cheeks, the three started towards the limp, bloodied form lying outstretched in the kitchen archway.  Muscles unfrozen by their sudden movement, Hotohori stepped forward and raised a hand.  

"Wait," he commanded, surprised at the depth of strength in his voice.  "Where do you think you're going?"

Nakago regarded him coolly.  "We have both lost someone today, Saihitei.  Foolish as he was for thinking he could end this himself, I won't leave him lying on the floor like a dog.  Let us pass."

"_She needs you, Hotohori-sama.  She needs you as much as she ever did--maybe more.  Even if you don't understand why, you have to stay with her and protect her, or they might succeed, and then..."  
  
_

He hadn't understood, then, what Nuriko had meant, but now...  Well, he _still_ didn't have the slightest idea, but something inside of him—feeling, not thought—told him that the 'they' he'd mentioned were standing right in front of his eyes.

"It's you, isn't it?" he asked quietly.  "He told me...that someone was trying to hurt her.  It's you."  
  


Nakago's face hardened, suddenly, in anger.  "It is the only way," he growled.  "Whatever our sins in the last life, we've done nothing in this one.  We do not want to die, Saihitei, and we'll do whatever we must to make sure that we don't.  Now, _step.  Aside._"

He did so, but not because of Nakago's firm words.  He did so, instead, because of the depth of grief on Suboshi's face, and on Soi's face, and because of the tremor that had worked through this hard-faced man's features as he spoke.  

_Enemies, perhaps.  But not so different.  No.  Not so different at all._

"Thank you," Nakago said.  After a quick glance back at his companions, he started forward, his boots making dull echoes on the bloodstained floor boards.  At the sight of the knife handle buried in the big man's back, he shook his head almost sadly, and murmured something that Hotohori, standing only a few feet away, couldn't hear.  

While Nakago and Suboshi worked at establishing their grips on their fallen companion's body, Soi turned and gave Hotohori a soft smile, dark eye make-up smudging as she rubbed at her eyes.  "Your friend must've been very strong," she said in a wavering voice.  "We...we saw the blood outside.  Ashitare must've--"  She trailed off, going a little paler.  "Your friend was already injured, when he came back into the house.  He was very brave."

"Soi," Nakago said sharply. 

Brushing again at her eyes, the young woman turned back and hurried to her companions' side; with her help, the three were able to lift Ashitare's body from the floor and start towards the open door.  For a moment, Hotohori wondered how they would ever get the man to their car without attracting the attention of everyone in the neighborhood, but realized with some bitterness that the very line of pine trees that had kept anyone from witnessing the attack would probably keep anyone from witnessing the escape, either.  

_What good would it do, anyway, for the police to find him here?  He's dead.  They both are.  _

Silent and coolly-respectful, he watched the three carry their burden through the front door and out onto the porch.  He waited until they'd reached their car, a sturdy-looking minivan with a sliding door, before he walked to the front door, gripped the knob, and pushed it closed.

~*~


	27. XXVII: Dreams.

**Disclaimer and Notes:**  Geez, why is this a recurring theme in my fics lately? ^_^;;  Anyway, uh...suicide is a bad thing.  Don't do it.  *nodnod*  Also, info on Tenkou--which I'd forgotten, actually ^^;;--was obtained from http://www.animeinfo.org/featured/fy/people/tenkou.html.  

The Last Wish:  Chapter 27

_Dreams._

The tabletop was cool beneath her arms, a scent like cedar and potpourri filling her nostrils.  And that was a surprise; Miaka could've sworn she hadn't smelled anything since she'd started crying, and that had been at least four hours ago.

"--talk about what happened, no matter how difficult it might be," Chichiri was saying, hands folded respectfully in front of him.  "I realize that we're all still very...affected by what happened--and we should be--but talking about it...might help us to deal with it, and to understand why it happened."  The twenty-four-year-old sighed.  "I know I would certainly like to understand."

Chiriko, seated on the blue-haired man's left with legs dangling several inches above the ground, glanced up from the table cloth.  "Shouldn't we wait for Hotohori-san and Mitsukake?"

There was a moment's pause.  "We've waited long enough," Chichiri said at last.  

_I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to..._

In desperation, Miaka let her attention wander to the room around her, letting her eyes drift from priceless vase to 

velvet-curtained window to polished marble floor to artful wall hanging.  Due to the wealth of Hotohori's parents--both of whom were spending the week in some distant European country, she remembered dimly--the house was large enough to accommodate at least twelve people, and the dining room table showed it.  To the best of Miaka's knowledge, the Seishuku family had never exceeded three members, but the table was huge, stretching through the elegant dining room in a lengthy, lace-covered oval.  A chandelier of rainbow crystal dangled above the center, gems of refracted sunlight from the window scattering like stars on the tablecloth.  

She was just examining the tiny blue flowers that made up the centerpiece when something warm gripped her hand; upon glancing up, she found Tamahome's larger fingers encircling her own, her boyfriend's features a mask of worry and grief.

"Miaka," he said gently, his fingers squeezing against her own.  His eyes were red and puffy, she saw, and she couldn't help but feel a flash of guilt at the memory of how near she had come to pushing away his love forever.  

_I would have, if it'd been up to me.  I would've given him up forever, if it would've changed things.  But it didn't.  It didn't do anything..._

"Miaka," Tamahome repeated, "Chichiri asked you a question."  
  


Blinking seemed to take several seconds longer than it should have; when she finally shifted her gaze to the blue-haired man, his left eye squeezed shut beneath the same scar he'd borne in the other world, many hours seemed to have passed.  "Did you?" she asked softly.  "I-I'm sorry.  I didn't hear..."

"It's all right," Chichiri assured her.  He shifted slightly in his seat, flickers of dying sunlight framing his bangs in gold.  "I asked you...if you could tell us anything about the man who...attacked Nuriko.  I wouldn't ask," he continued hurriedly, "but you seemed to know him, and when the police speak to us--"  He broke off, looking uncertain, and didn't seem to be able to find the words with which to continue.

Finding all eyes on her, Miaka flushed and let her gaze drop to the her hands.  "I..."  
  


_What're you going to say, ne, Miaka?  How can you tell them that because of you, they're all going to have to suffer the same things they did in the Book?  How can you tell them that?  How can you tell them about the Book?  How can you tell Chiriko that he's going to die?_

She was just beginning to panic, wondering what on earth she could possibly tell these people, when a voice, low and still rough from crying, sliced up through the silence.  "Miaka doesn't fuckin' know him," Tasuki growled.

Slumped in the chair at the head of the table, as far removed from his companions as it was possible to be while still at the same table, the seventeen-year-old was clutching the tablecloth in his fingers, hand clenching and unclenching as if unaware that it was even moving.  He didn't look up as he spoke.  "Why the hell would she?"  His voice went suddenly soft.  "Why the hell would she fuckin' know a guy like that..."

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, no sound but the nearby twitter of birds and the far-off rush of cars--and then, slowly, all eyes drifted to that mass of red hair and the tear-streaked face beneath it.  "Tasuki," Chichiri murmured, and Miaka had to force herself to remember that these two men had only just recently met, "did _you_ know him?"  
  


Tasuki's eyes squeezed shut; a stream of moisture trickled over his cheeks for a few silent seconds.  "Shit," he whispered at last.  "Yeah, I knew 'im.  Not well or anything, but yeah, I fuckin' knew 'im.  Guy was only a few years older than us, didja know that?  Back when we were little, he and me used to fuckin' play together."  He laughed once, but it sounded too near a sob for Miaka's comfort.  "Can ya believe it?  Can ya fuckin' believe it?  I've got a picture of that guy--"  Tasuki's voice began to shake.  "--that fuckin' killed Nuriko playin' in a _sandbox_ with me grinning like a goddamn moron right beside 'im.  I've got a fuckin' _picture_.  Can ya believe it?"  
  


"Tasuki," Chichiri said immediately, "this wasn't your fault.  Just because you knew him--"  
  


"I fuckin' know that!" the younger man exploded, head jerking up to look at his friends.  "I know it.  But it still feels like...like maybe, if I'd'a been there..."  Trembling, the seventeen-year-old brought a hand to his eyes and pressed it there.  "I don't know," he whispered.  "Just seems like I maybe coulda done somethin', ya know?"

Vision suddenly blurry with tears, Miaka wrenched free of Tamahome's grasp and got shakily to her feet.  "You couldn't have done anything!" she cried.  "I tried!  I tried to change it, but I couldn't!  I couldn't do anything and neither could you!  It's _HOPELESS!"_

And while the stunned expressions were still flickering over her friends' faces, the girl turned and ran from the room; moments later, she was racing up the carpeted spiral staircase, and--after accidentally charging into the bathroom, which had a door just across from her own--finally found herself locked safely in her room, back pressed to the door.  She stood there for a long time, breathing heavily and struggling against the flood of guilt swimming in her mind, and then she staggered over to the bed--queen-sized, with a soft, floral-decorated comforter and three large pillows--and collapsed onto it.  

_I tried.  I tried so hard...  Gods, why did this have to happen?  Why couldn't I change it?  What did I do wrong?  I won't accept it!!  I won't accept that...that Chiriko and Mitsukake and Hotohori are going to have to die! I won't accept it!  There must be something I can do...  Please.  Please, there must be something..._

The thoughts were still spinning in her head, mingled with tears and the soft remembered murmur of Nuriko's voice, when sleep took her.  

~*~

_She was dreaming.  She knew she was dreaming from the moment she opened her eyes to the dimness, but knowing didn't give her the power to wake up, and so she had little choice but to let the dream do as it would.  It was all right, though; the room she was in looked eerily like the one she'd chosen for herself in Hotohori's house, and the bed beneath her felt warm, as if she'd been sleeping on it for many hours, but it didn't have the feel of a nightmare.  The night air was soft and cool, trickling in through the far window, and there was a sense of peace on her heart such as she'd never imagined, soothing the pains from her soul and making even Nuriko's death, which had been so near and so agonizingly-real only moments ago, seem distant and dreamlike._

_The peace sent a smile to her lips, and a laugh sprang from her throat before she could stop it.  Before she was entirely aware of what she was doing, she had swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her toes into the plush carpeting; moments later, she felt herself walking towards the door, and knew, somehow, that she was being guided, that this was more than dream, that someone was answering her plea and giving her the solace and the salvation she'd prayed for..._

_Still smiling, Miaka let herself be led out into the hallway--dark and smooth with night, and seeming somehow alive with shadows--and soon found herself standing in front of the bathroom door, her fingers wrapping lightly around the handle.  Despite the glorious peace that was encircling her and making bubbles of laughter slip from her lips, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of god would send a dream that saw her going to the _bathroom_, for goodness' sake--and then the door swung open before her, and all thought stopped._

_ It was such a beautiful little bathroom, with an old-fashioned porcelain bathtub in one corner, knobs of polished bronze and filled with softly-scented soaps, and a sink of the same material and make against the opposite wall.  Even the medicine cabinet, a square mirror framed in blond wood to match the floorboards, seemed elegant and refined, and as she reached for it, she knew very well that she could never taint such a beautiful and elegant room with what she was suddenly sure she was about to do.  _

The roof,_ she told herself firmly, fingers somehow knowing precisely where to go in the cabinet to find what she sought.  _The roof would be the best place.__

_Something about that particular piece of logic didn't seem terribly right, but she was smiling too hard to notice; the razor blade fit neatly into her palm, her loose grip preventing even a minute cut, and the moment the metal touched her skin, she knew relief such as she'd never felt before.  It seemed so obvious, now--so clear and perfect and right.  What better way to change things?  What better way to make sure that things were changed forever, that Chiriko would grow up and Hotohori would see his son born and Mitsukake would live to heal others?  What better way than to remove the one thing keeping them all trapped in suffering and death?  What better way?  
  
_

_Humming softly to herself, Miaka slipped out into the darkened hallway and made her way towards the closet.  Set at the far end, near the staircase that led downstairs, the closet held the only ladder into the cramped attic.  The attic, meanwhile, provided a small ladder onto the house's flat black roof, on which Hotohori, she remembered vaguely, had once often retreated when in need of peace from his quarrelling parents.  It seemed fitting to her, somehow, that that would be the place where she would free him of his fate, although of course it would be too late for...._

(Miaka...)__

_No, there was no need to think about that!  After all, the solution to all their problems was at hand, wasn't it?  In a few moments, she would finally succeed at what she'd been struggling to do for what felt like so long--she would save them!!  She would save them all, and make up for the lives she _hadn't_ saved when she'd been too afraid and too stupid to see that this was what had to be done!  And it _did_ have to be done!_

(Miaka...)

_...didn't it?_

She was in the attic, starting towards the ladder, when she realized that this was _not_ a dream.  The razor blade was in her palm, and the night air was cool around her, and this was _real_ and she was really going to do it if she didn't stop herself but how could she when this was the _only way? _

_The only way.  It was the only way, and the only thing that she could possibly do to save them, and wasn't it fair, anyway?  She'd given up their lives, so why shouldn't her own life be given up for them?  Didn't it make sense?  Wasn't that how it was supposed to be?  _

(Miaka!)

_Shaking her head, Miaka gripped the ladder--carefully, so as not to injure herself with the razor--and soon found herself standing alone on the broad, flat surface that was the roof.  It, too, seemed smooth and alive in the darkness, and even as she pushed the wooden flap back down over the ladder, she couldn't help but smile at its beauty.  The night sky was rich with stars and a slim crescent moon, casting a silvery glow over everything, and the lights of the city burned against the distant hills; she hadn't been enjoying the view for more than a few seconds, however, when the moonlight glittered against the silver square in her palm, and she was reminded, suddenly, of the task awaiting her.  She thought, dimly, that what she was about to do might hurt, but the thought was so distant that she barely noticed it.  Before she was completely aware of what she was doing, she was walking calmly to the edge of the roof, the blade sliding neatly between her index finger and thumb, and was gazing down into the hazy darkness below._

_Just one quick slash.  One quick slash, and it would all be better--everything would be the way it was supposed to be, and everyone would be alive who should be alive...except of course for Tamahome's family and  Nu--_

She came to a halt, toes stretching just beyond the edge of the roof, and felt, for the first time, the enormity of the drop beneath her, as well as the solidity of the razor blade in her fingers.  And as these realizations trickled into her, slow but steady, she became aware of the sudden presence of warm hands on her shoulders, and the voice that had been with her all along...

"Miaka..."

_It's not real...he's dead...it's not real..._

But, it was, and she knew it.  When she turned, Nuriko was there, standing behind her in a white button-down and black slacks, hands folded together in front of him, the warm breeze sending wisps of shaggy violet hair fluttering against his ears.  He seemed paler than usual, somehow, and it wasn't until she brushed the tears from her eyes that she realized that there was a haze around him, as if an aura of moonlight surrounded his body; she had only a moment to think on that, however, before he'd stepped forward and pulled her back from the edge, slim white fingers drawing the blade from her hand as he moved.  

"N...Nuriko," she managed hoarsely.  "How can you--"  
  


"Shhhh."  She heard the clatter of the razor blade hitting a distant patch of tile, and then Nuriko's arms were around her, pulling her down until they sat together on the ground, Nuriko holding her so closely that she could hear the phantom thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear.  As he spoke, he rocked her gently, and she was sure she could hear tears in his voice.  "Miaaaaaka," he whispered.  "Why would you want to do that?  Ne, Miaka?  Why would you want to do that?" 

Slender palms caressed her suddenly-moist cheeks, drawing her face up to meet rosy-violet eyes that glittered in the moonlight, and despite all that she wanted and needed to say, all that came out was a small, choked sob.  "I'm sorry!" she wept at last, fingers clenching tightly to the fabric of his shirt.  "I'm sorry, but it's the only way I can save them, Nuriko, it's the only way the only _way..._"

She felt soft hands smoothing at her hair, sweeping the sweat-sticky strands back from her forehead.  "Miaka," Nuriko said gently, "it's not."

"But...but it's what I have to do!  Suzaku...Suzaku sent me the dream so I would know!  H-He answered my prayer--"  
  


"No."  His voice, firm and strong, sliced effortlessly through her words.  "Miaka, he loves you.  This isn't the end he wants for you, believe me.  You're his Priestess, and even if you're still blinded by how deeply you want this to be real..."  She heard the rustle of Nuriko shaking his head.  "He loves you, and he would never send a dream like that to you.  Never."

_It wasn't him. It wasn't him I don't have to do it but--_

"But, it's right, isn't it?" she demanded, pushing herself up and out of his embrace.  "It's right.  If I...if I die..."  
  


Nuriko gazed at her levelly, such a strength in his voice that she barely recognized it.  "If you die," he said slowly, "then, yes, their fates will been broken.  But, Miaka...your life in the Book was worth more than that, wasn't it?  Don't forget, if you free the fates of Hotohori-sama, Chiriko, and Mitsukake, you free the fates of Nakago and the Seiryuu seishi, also.  And even if they might not be evil in this world, you have no idea what evil might be done _through_ them."  
She stared at him blankly for a moment, a chill working its way up her spine, before she could find the will to speak.  "What...what do you mean, what evil might be done _through_ them?"

"There's a man," Nuriko said after a moment, very softly.  "He was a prince, once, in the Book World, but he was sentenced to die because of his allegiance to Dark Arts.  He didn't die, though, Miaka--at least, his soul didn't.  He was reborn as a demon, and had dreams of overthrowing the Four Gods and ruling the world.  But...he had very little power in the world, and so he needed humans--powerful humans--to aid him.  Humans who might, under the right circumstances, be able to summon one of the Four Gods and give him the power he desired.  That man's name was Tenkou, Miaka, and the humans he found to help him were the Seiryuu no Shichiseishi.  But, when you made that wish--"  He shook his head.  "Tenkou, like everything else from the Book, was brought into this world, and was given another chance at achieving what he'd failed to do in the Book.  He contacted Nakago first, and since the Seiryuu seishi were drawn to one another, anyway, it wasn't long before he had almost all of them.  He gave them a copy of the Book, and that--plus all that it helped them remember--was enough to convince them that he was telling them the truth.

"He told them about you, Miaka, and about how their fates were sealed to what they'd been in the Book.  He told them that they were going to die unless they did something about it, and he told them to kill you.  And do you know what happened, Miaka?  They refused.  Tenkou told them that all they would need to do was change something that had happened in the Book, and so--rather than trying to hurt you--they decided to try to keep one another alive, instead.  But...well, it didn't quite work out that way, as you know.  They still won't kill you, Miaka.  Tenkou has told them again and again that it is the _only_ way, but they won't.  But...as they start dying...  They might change their minds.  Like anyone, they don't want to die, and Tenkou won't rest until he's killed you.  You have to be very careful, Miaka.  I can't always be here...and you need to survive.  You _must_ survive."

"But--" Her voice seemed too high and too shrill, but she couldn't seem to calm it.  "But, if he wants me dead...what can I do to stop him?  I-If he can get into my dreams, then what can I do?"

Nuriko regarded her almost sadly, then, something in his eyes that seemed poised between sorrow and relief.  "You can _wake up_," he whispered, "and fulfill your duties as Suzaku no Miko."

~*~


	28. XXVIII: The Only Way

The Last Wish, Chapter 28:

_The Only Way._

~*~

Miaka stared at Nuriko in confusion, feeling the chill bite of the night wind against her cheeks, the scratch of the roof tile against her legs, and knowing that this was real.  This was _real_, so then how...?

"W...Wake up?" she whispered.

A sudden flood of images stung against her eyelids, bright and painfully-clear.

--nuriko lying limp in the snow chiriko with reddened fingers clutching his wound mitsukake collapsed and cold hotohori smiling into the sky, clinging to that photograph and crying . . . tokyo crumbling, nakago, _tamahome!, _yui-chan, stone crashing down at her from the sky, about to crush her--

nuriko.__

...Nuriko.

The violet-haired boy sat silently beside her, studying her face; with gentle fingers, he brushed a piece of reddish-brown hair from her cheek, pausing in the motion to smudge away her tears with his thumb.  "That's real," he said, very softly.  His arms still circled her shoulders, making her feel loved and safe...yet, somehow, she had never been so alone.  "Can't you feel it, Miaka?  How _wrong_ this is?  Can't you feel that this isn't where we're supposed to be?"

She shook her head, mouth dry, heart aching, then broke free of the warmth of his arms and stumbled to her feet.  "No," she said, hearing her voice rising shakily but not caring.  "_No_.  Th-This is my last wish.  This is my LAST WISH!  It's REAL!  I _CAN_ CHANGE THINGS!  I CAN!"

Nuriko didn't move.  He sat silently on the black tile of the roof, legs tucked against his chest, hands clasped at his knees; the snowy aura swam around him, sometimes fading, sometimes burning, and it was a long time before he spoke.

"There's only one way you can change things, Miaka."  His voice was very low, almost unrecognizable; she couldn't have looked away from his gaze even if she'd wanted to.  "When you realize--when you _accept_ this . . . when you accept that you _cannot_ change this, that this wish is _worthless_ . . . "  He shook his head.  "That's the only way you can change it.  That's the only way you can give all of us another chance."

She took another step backwards, having the sudden icy sensation that the world was spinning.  "No."  She knew that there was more she should say, more that needed to be said to block the realization of whatever it was that she didn't want to realize, but that was all that would come out.  She felt the back of her knees thud into something, and turned to find the ladder back into the house waiting there for her.  Best to get back down there, be with her friends--protect them.  She _had_ to.  _That_ was her duty as Suzaku no Miko.  That was her duty.

The only thing stopping her, she found, was the look Nuriko was giving her.  His eyes were so sad, his features twisted in grief; she longed to go to him, to comfort him, but that churning fear inside of her wouldn't let her.  If she went to him, if she kept _listening_ to this . . .   Reality was sand, slipping silently through her fingers, and she had a terrible, gnawing suspicion that if she heard much more of what Nuriko had to say, it would all slip away, and she would lose everything.

Caught between Nuriko's sad eyes and the terror of losing all grip on reality, Miaka could only stand there at the top of the ladder, the night cool and dark around her, and wait for a decision to come.

It came more quickly than she wanted, and certainly not in the form she would've desired.

From far downstairs, a door crashed open, and someone screamed.

Nuriko was on his feet in a second, sadness snapping into fear, but Miaka didn't wait for him; she scrambled down the ladder, barely managing to hold onto the rungs as she moved, and sprinted for the attic's trap door.  That ladder, she didn't even bother with; she leaped down through the square in the floor, landing on all fours in the upstairs hallway with an "oof!" and a flash of pain in her kneecaps.  She was aware of a new sound now, one that she wasn't certain she was ready to face--but then Nuriko was beside her, looking pale and fearful in the dim hallway lighting, and she knew that she could only go forwards.

She marched down the corridor, trying not to hear the thunder of feet from downstairs or the shattering of glass or the low moan of someone in pain . . . no.  

"They're here," Nuriko said quietly.  He was floating along just beside her, clothing and hair rippling as if in a great rush of wind, and she didn't have to ask who it was that he meant.  

The Seiryuu seishi were here.  

For her.

She should have been afraid, she thought as she walked calmly to the stairs.  She should have been terrified.  These people, these enemies from the Book, were here to kill her--they were here to take her life away and make her leave her friends, her loved ones . . . Tamahome.  Yet, try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but that dull, painful ache in her heart.  

It had to be this way.  This was the _only way._

"Miaka, you can't go down there!" Nuriko shouted, grabbing her arm and spinning her to face him.  His eyes were wide, a genuine hint of fear glittering in the rosy-violet irises.  "Tenkou's dream failed, so he's sent the Seiryuu to kill you.  You _can't_ go down there!  Miaka, if they kill you . . . "  
  


"If they kill me--"  Her voice sounded soft and strange, hardly like her own.  "--then this will all end.  Ne, Nuriko?"  Tugging free of his grip, she started to move down the stairs; she could hear the crash of pots and the thudding and grunting of a fight coming from the kitchen.  

The staircase was long and slightly-curved, bathed in rich, royal red carpeting; her fingers smoothed against the banister as she descended, tingling against the polished wood.  She was about halfway down when the crashing from the kitchen abruptly stopped, and the moment it did, she felt that horrible, familiar clenching sensation in her chest, that feeling as if something very much a part of herself were being torn away . . .  She paused there, nails digging into the wood of the banister, and thought she could hear the ragged, angry sound of sobbing from the kitchen.

And then Nakago stepped into view at the bottom of the steps, and the breath vanished from her lungs.

Their eyes met, both widening in near-identical expressions of shock.  He was clad in a white dress shirt and navy slacks, a shin-length trenchcoat wrapped around his body; a bloody tear clung to the edge of his mouth, and the front of his shirt was splattered in scarlet.  

_Blood.  Oh, God, why did they try to stop him?  Why didn't they just let him get me?  Then no one would have to die.  No one would have to die again!  Oh, God, please . . . _

Nakago had seemingly overcome his initial surprise; he took a few steps forward, a grim, almost reluctant smile touching his lips.  "Suzaku no Miko," he rumbled.  

His eyes were cold and blue, but somehow not as cold as she remembered--something was different about him now, something that gave her the impression that he would rather be anywhere but here.  His fingers trembled, occasionally traveling to the bloodied front of his shirt as if trying to cover the stain.

She turned, wanting to ask Nuriko if Nakago truly _was_ different in this life, if he truly _was_ decent enough not to enjoy killing--but Nuriko wasn't there anymore.  There was nothing behind her but air and the strangely-normal glow of the hallway light, and she couldn't help but wonder what had become of her friends.

Looking hesitant but determined, Nakago reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat and tugged out a long, porcelain-handled steak knife.  Its blade was rusty with blood, but the blond man hardly seemed to notice.  He took another step forward, his eyes locked on hers . . . 

. . . and suddenly, there came a thundering of feet and a roar of rage from the kitchen, and then a fiery blur slammed into Nakago, knocking the man onto his back on the floor.  The knife went clattering into the nearby living room, the blood smearing against the white carpeting; as Miaka watched, Tasuki hurled himself at it, and a moment later was clutching the handle in his fingers, gasping for breath and looking angrier than she'd ever seen him.  He stood there for a moment in silence, crouched in the living room doorway, and glared at Nakago.

"You bastard," Tasuki spat, tears streaking down over his cheeks.  "You fuckin' killed him, you bastard.  YOU FUCKIN' KILLED HIM!"

The blond man had just picked himself up from the fall and was climbing to his feet, smiling at Tasuki in a way that rang icy-cold in Miaka's mind.

_If . . . if he kills Tasuki . . .  If he kills Tasuki then fate will be changed and Tasuki will be dead and that can't happen it has to be ME, IT HAS TO BE ME BECAUSE THIS IS ALL MY FAULT IT HAS TO BE ME!!_

Before she could reconsider what she was doing, Miaka let go of the banister and hurried down the stairs; Tasuki gaped at her, mouth moving without sound, but it wasn't long before he managed a sputtered, "W-What the _fuck_ do you think you're _doin?_"

Nakago smiled at her as she came to a halt beside him, his eyes going cold and icy, and reached into the other pocket of his trenchcoat.

"MIAKAAAAA!" Tasuki howled, starting to rush forward; Nakago turned as the red-haired seishi charged, raising one hand as if to block a blow, but as he raised it, the fingers began to glow blue with energy.

Tasuki's eyes went wide, and he tried to skid to a halt, to get out of the way, but Nakago was too fast; the room was suddenly flooded with blue light, searing and painful, and as Miaka watched, Tasuki was hurled backwards by the blast of energy.  He slammed into the far wall, skull cracking into the plaster, and then crumpled to the floor and lay still.  He was still breathing--she could hear it moaning through his lips--but how long would that last?  She had to do something.  She had to end this before anyone else was hurt.

Nakago turned back to her.

To her surprise, his eyes were wide and startled, and his gaze kept flickering down to his hand as if doubting that such a blast of energy had actually come from him.  

_He's never used it before.  He must've known he could, but he . . . he never used it before.    
  
He's not a killer, is he?  He never was.  _

_He's just trying to survive._

"I . . . "  He stared at her levelly, drawing a new, unbloodied knife from his other pocket.  "I didn't think this would be necessary."  A slim line arced through his brow.  "But it seems this is the only way.  No one else must die."

Miaka nodded, trying to swallow but finding her mouth too dry, and very carefully clasped her hands behind her back.  

"I know," she said quietly. She wanted to sound firm and brave, like she had known all along that this was where it would end, but her voice was small.  "Could . . ."  She closed her eyes.  "Could I . . . see him, first?  Just once?"

Nakago stared at her for a moment; she felt his eyes penetrating deep into her soul, searching for truth--it was a long time before he nodded.  "Hai."  He inclined his head towards the kitchen.  "He's in there."  
  


Wrapping both arms around herself to halt the shivers, Miaka turned and walked silently through the kitchen archway.  The first person she saw was Chichiri.

He was sprawled on his stomach just inside the door, groaning slightly but unconscious; his bluish hair was matted with blood, both arms wrapped around his stomach, a bloody gash streaking down his arm.  Just a few feet away from him, curled on his side with a huge lump of bluish purple rising on his temple, was Tamahome.  It seemed strange, to see him lying there; Tamahome had always endured, had always fought until the very last, never giving in . . . 

She thought she could see him stirring a bit, as if he were about to wake up--Nakago would have to hurry.

She was just about to turn back to the blond man, suggest that they get on with things, when she noticed the small, still form on the other side of the room.  Despite the grandeur of the rest of the house, the kitchen was fairly small, with a row of cabinets lining the walls and a wooden breakfast set positioned in the center of the room.  Just beyond that set, lying on his back with the sleek black hilt of a knife protruding from his stomach, was Chiriko.

A pool of scarlet oozed around him, staining the checkered floor and soaking into the wood of the chairs; his small fingers clung limply to the handle of the knife, and even from across the room, she could see that he wasn't breathing.

Another.

Another of her friends, dead.

_Dead because of me._

She spun on Nakago angrily, tears springing from her eyes.  "Do it!" she screamed.  "Do it before anybody else dies!"

Nakago didn't hesitate.  He reaffirmed his grip on the knife, keeping his icy-blue eyes locked on her, and raised the blade with a steady hand.  "This is where it ends," he said quietly, and she couldn't help but hear the note of regret in his voice.  

_He really isn't a bad person.  He just wants to live..._

His muscles tensed, tugging the knife back slightly in preparation for the final blow--Miaka tried to steel herself against the coming pain--

...and suddenly there came the crash of the front door flying open, and Hotohori and Mitsukake thundered inside.

"NAKAGO!" Hotohori bellowed.  He had no weapon, nothing but his fists and his rage, and yet as Miaka watched, he began to run for the blond seishi, long chestnut hair whipping out behind him like a cape.  

Time seemed to slow.

Nakago glanced from the charging shichiseishi to Miaka and back again; Miaka could practically hear his thoughts, could very nearly see the slow turning of his mental wheels, churning towards a decision.

She knew who he would choose.

She knew, with a sinking, agonizing certainty, that Nakago was going to turn away from her and kill Hotohori, and then probably kill Mitsukake somehow, because . . . 

She sank to her knees on the floor, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing a hand to her face.

Because that was what was supposed to happen.

There was no changing it.

There was no fixing it.

It was _meant to be._

She felt warm hands on her shoulders, sturdy and strong, and turned to find Nuriko standing there behind her, his image whispery and pale.  His eyes were as sad as she had ever seen them.  

"I never could have changed it, could I?" she murmured; her voice sounded strange to her own ears, as if it came from beneath a deep well of water.  "This wish . . .  It can't work.  Everything that happened there happened here because I _can't_ change it, because . . . because it's already done.  I can't change it because it's already _happened._"

Nuriko knelt beside her.  Cupping her cheek with his palm, he shook his head slowly.  "There's no way you could've known.  You just wanted everyone to be happy.  It was a _good wish_, Miaka.  But Suzaku knew that it couldn't bring you what you wanted--he knew it, and he knew that the only way to show you that it couldn't was to let you live it."

"Is this--"  She drew a shuddering breath, glancing around the wrecked kitchen with wide eyes.  "Is none of this real?"

Nuriko smiled at her and, shaking his head, leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the forehead.  "Baka," he whispered.  "Don't you pay attention to anything?  Just because it's a dream doesn't mean it's not real."

**To Be Concluded.**

~*~

[Note:  Don't be confused.  All will be explained in the next--and, shockingly, last--chapter.  Thanks to all who read and review.  ~Ryuen.]


	29. XXIX: Ready To Go

**Notes:  **Wow, the last chapter.  *whistles*  Huge, huge thanks to everyone who has read this fic, everyone who has encouraged me to write more, and everyone who forgave the less-than-stellar quality of the first few chapters and, instead, focused on the better writing of the later ones. ^_~.  Shockingly, this is only the third large Fushigi Yuugi fanfiction that I've ever finished, and despite how sad it will be not to write in it again, it feels good to finish it.  *nod*  ...as for warnings, this chapter has nothing in it that could be considered offensive--one Tasuki Language moment, I think--although you should be aware that I have rewritten Miaka's final speech to the seishi a tiny bit, just because while what she said makes great spoken dialogue, it doesn't read terribly well. ^_~.  So, anyway . . . arrigato, minna.  It was great fun. ^__^.  ~Ryuen

PS:  A very good point made by Threshie concerning Chiriko in the Chapter 28--all I can say in response is that the point isn't how/why Chiriko was killed, but that he was. *nod*  But excellent point!  *gold star* ^_^.

PPS:  Suggested music for reading this chapter:  _Somewhere Out There_ by Our Lady Peace. *fervent nodding*

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[The Last Wish]****

**Chapter 29:  **

Ready To Go.

~*~

The world grew fuzzy around her, streaks of grey slicing through the solidity of the kitchen, and there was a sound like rushing air, a sound like a train roaring by at a hundred miles an hour.  Trembling, Miaka squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands to her face to cover it, and a warm, summery breeze swirled around her.  

_Minna . . . I'm sorry.  I couldn't change it.  I'm sorry . . . _

She was aware, suddenly, of the inexplicable knowledge of being somewhere else, of her body being straightened into a standing position, and of something hard forming beneath her feet.  There were new sounds, now:  the frantic honking of horns, the distant whine of sirens--the rippling moan of the injured.  Through it all rose the crumbing crash of stone on stone, the crackle of flames, and--from so near that it made her heart ache--the rapid in-out of Tamahome trying to catch his breath.

Miaka opened her eyes.

Tokyo was rubble around her, buildings cracked and broken, debris and twisted lamp posts and crushed-in cars scattered like discarded toys.  The sky was dark and streaked with grey, threatening a storm, and she had the sudden memory of a great dragon, poking its head above the sea of shattered buildings and swimming through the clouds--but, that was over, wasn't it?  She had sealed Seiryuu, had performed her duties as Suzaku no Miko . . .

No.  No, she had performed all her duties _but one_.

Her friends stood gathered around her, Tamahome looking weary but happy at her side, the other seishi clustered together a few feet away, chattering about what she should use her last wish for--didn't they know?  Didn't they remember?  Didn't they feel that something was different, that so much had _changed_?

_They . . ._

She stared at them in silent shock for a moment--Tasuki.  Chichiri.  Mitsukake.  Nuriko.  Hotohori.  Chiriko.  And beside her, smiling out at the world like a proud father, Tamahome.  Their eyes were clear of shadows, their features smoothed into what could only be described as joy.  Relief.

_They don't remember any of it, do they?  Nothing.  Why??  Why am I the only one allowed to remember?  What good does it do when none of them knows what happened?_

"What the fuck you talkin' about?  She's gonna wish for her 'n Tama to be together!"

Startled from her thoughts by Tasuki's grating baritone, Miaka turned slightly and let her eyes meet Tamahome's.  The dark-haired seishi was still looking bruised and battered, streaks of dried blood visible on his bare chest, and she knew the moment she looked at him that she wanted to be with him forever.  She remembered, suddenly, being just a normal girl with him--going to school together.  Thinking about the Prom.  Had that world been allowed to exist, they might have gotten married, had children, grown old together . . . but, now?  What would become of them now, if she wished for him to be allowed to remain with her in this world?  How long would it be before someone noticed that he had no shadow, that mirrors reflected nothing but the world behind him--could they even _have_ children?

_Suzaku, it's not fair.  It's not fair!  We love each other, but . . . but, we can't be together, can we?_

Her eyes traveled, again, to the rubble that surrounded her, to what remained of downtown Tokyo.  What about the people who had been injured here?  What about the people who lived and worked here, who _belonged_ here as she belonged here?  What about them?  Were they to be left to suffer and silently rebuild, always remembering the day when the sky was darkened by the form of a giant dragon, while she lived happily with her wish?  

_Last time.  Last time . . . I was selfish.  I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, but I wasn't.  I was being selfish, and because of me, my friends had to suffer.  I . . . I won't let anyone suffer because of me again.  I can't. _

Drawing a deep, steady breath, Miaka turned, placed one hand on Tamahome's shoulder, and rose on tip-toe to whisper into his ear.  After glancing at her in shock, his eyes large and questioning, he nonetheless nodded, and with his hand clasped tightly in hers, she spoke the word that had been waiting on her tongue for what seemed a lifetime.

"Kaijin."

Tendrils of black swirled around her, circling her in dark ribbons, drawing her upwards; moments later, she found herself in a mist of empty, endless darkness, her only company a warm, round red light that pulsed like a beacon in the distance.  She wasn't sure how she knew how, but somehow, she propelled her body forwards, floating through the darkness like a ghost.  As that sphere of crimson grew larger, a warmth began to travel through her body, and she knew that finally, _finally_, she was where she was supposed to be.

Suzaku whispered into being in front of her, floating from the red sphere like a scarlet mist; his body was that of a beautiful, slender young man with fiery hair, and a crimson glow rippled over his flesh like flame.

"Suzaku," Miaka whispered.  The mere sight of him brought tears stinging to her eyes, but she forced them back with all of her willpower.  Anger was clenching in her muscles and trembling through her limbs, and if she didn't focus on it, if she didn't cling to it, she would never be able to find the courage to say what she had to say.  

When she finally spoke, she was shocked that her voice didn't quaver.  "_Why_?" she demanded, fists balling at her sides.  "Why did things turn out like this?  Why didn't my last wish come true?"

Suzaku stared at her levelly.  His eyes seemed to bore deep into her soul, but rather than a violation, it was a sensation as of being wrapped in warm, loving arms and held close.  "You last wish _did_ come true," he rumbled, in a voice somehow soft and deafening at the same moment.  "I allowed it to happen, knowing that the only way you would realize the error in it was to experience it.  The fates of the shichiseishi were altered by your presence in their world, as the entire world was altered by it--why were you so quick to undo that alteration, when the end was good?"  Suzaku smiled, and again, hot tears stung at Miaka's eyes.  "You wished to save your friends.  You wished to give them another chance at life--another chance to survive.  But merely changing their surroundings could not change their fates.  You can_not_ change their fates.  But, do not fear; they will have another chance.  They will have infinite chances, in their next lives and the ones beyond it, and they will find happiness, they will live to old age--they will guard you as they have guarded you now, and cherish you for all you have done for them.

"But, Miaka . . . "  The god shook his head.  "To undo all that you have done in this world is to cheapen your own purpose.  It is to cheapen _my_ purpose.  Victories are not so plentiful that you can risk throwing them away in search of a better one.  It was a lesson you needed to learn, and now that you have, the reality you and your companions experienced has become much like a dream, a reality that occurred within all of you, but which now has no bearing on the past or future.  I have brought you back to this moment, Miaka, because in the reality of your wish, I, too, was in existence in that world, watching you . . . waiting.  It was in your hands all along.  You could accept the world your wish had created, the world where nothing was altered and your friends suffered the same pain and death they did the first time . . ."  His smile grew gentle, and as Miaka watched, inexplicable tears warming her cheeks, Suzaku reached forward and cradled her face gently with his palm.  "Or you could change it," he said softly.  "You could realize that you have no control over the fates of your friends, no more than they have control over yours, and that the only way to alter their lives is to let them go.  You must move _forward_, Miaka.  If your eyes stay eternally-focused on what lies behind you, on the lives you _failed_ to save rather than those you _did_ . . . then, what will anything you accomplish be worth?

"You will find each other again.  I swear it.  But the world you created with your wish is a world that was never meant to exist, and now . . . now, it lives only in you."

She stood there for a moment, weeping silently, one hand pressed to her heart as if trying to feel the warmth of that world within her.

"For awhile, we were happy," she whispered, and in her mind's eye, she couldn't help glimpsing the day she and Nuriko had shared shopping for her prom dress--the day she had managed to forget the terrors of her friends dying, of history repeating itself, and just exist.  Just be.  It had been beautiful.  "He'll . . . he'll never remember that, will he?" she asked shakily.  "None of them . . . none of them will remember any of it."

Suzaku shook his head.  "They need not know of it.  It was _your _wish, Miaka.  It lived in you all along."  

And just like that, she knew that her conversation with the Phoenix God was over, and it was time to decide.  With a rumbling like the shifting of the earth, Suzaku rose to his full height and gazed down at her with narrow, waiting eyes.  His voice seemed not to be something she heard, but rather something she felt, something that rumbled in her chest like thunder.  "Are you ready to make your last wish, Suzaku no Miko?" he boomed. 

Wiping at her eyes, Miaka nodded.  

_I'll let you go, minna.  I love you all . . . I love you all so much.  But I'll let you go, because if I don't, how will you come back to me?_

"Suzaku," she said firmly, feeling that warm summer breeze rustling around her again, ruffling her clothes and whipping her long auburn hair around her shoulders.  "Make this world normal again!"

Suzaku inclined his head, a light of pride gleaming from his eyes, and said simply, "It will be done."

~*~

As the buildings mended, as the sky cleared, as the debris smoothed into sidewalk and pavement and patches of grass, Miaka gripped Tamahome's hand and squeezed it hard.  Her friends stood staring at her in shock, their mouths working without sound; it was Chiriko, finally, his tiny form pale and indistinct without a Nyan-Nyan within him, who broke the silence.

"What are you going to do about Tamahome-san?" the boy asked.  His large green eyes glittered in the new streaks of sunlight from above, and Miaka promised herself silently that someday, in whatever life, however long it took, she would see him married and old and grey.  

"Minna," she said, smiling tearfully out at her friends, "thank you for everything--and for caring about us.  But . . . "  She swallowed, and it seemed in that moment that she could feel  Suzaku's palm against her cheek, warm and reassuring.  "But, it's hardly an appropriate wish to make to Suzaku."  She cleared her throat.  "You all taught me that I'm not worthless.  I've always thought I was a nobody, and you all taught me . . . you taught me to believe in myself, and to believe in what I've accomplished."  Her voice grew soft.  "We fought to help your world, and to help mine.  It would be selfish to wish for Tamahome and me to be together if it meant not helping this world.  But . . ."  She closed her eyes briefly, a mist of tears pricking against her eyelids.  Tamahome's arm circled her shoulders, giving her strength, and after a deep breath, she was able to continue.  "But, I'll see all of you again, ne?  Someday, I know we'll all be together again!  And . . . and happy.  I know we will."

Her friends glanced at one another, warm and tearful smiles on their faces; Nuriko took a small step forward.  "Nyan-Nyan," he murmured.  "Can I borrow your body again?"  He smiled.  "I wanna hug this girl one more time."

With a grin, one of the Nyan-Nyans took a flying leap at Nuriko; seconds later, his pale form deepened and darkened, until finally he stood there solid and smiling and breathing.  After a quick glance at Tamahome, who removed his arm from her shoulder and released her hand, Miaka took a few halting steps forward and collapsed into Nuriko's arms.  

Nuriko held her close, his body warm and solid against her, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that they stood in the house that had been his in the dream.  She remembered it all so clearly, how everything looked, how it smelled--she remembered in particular the lilac shampoo that Nuriko had used, a subtle fragrance that brought to mind a field of blossoms baking in summer sunlight.  She remembered the mulberry potpourri in the living room, the spotless white cushions of the couch that she and Nuriko had laid on, the daffodils he'd kept in a vase in the kitchen.

 . . . she remembered the thick, rusty scent of blood, filling her nostrils as she and Hotohori stepped into the house.  She remembered Nuriko sitting weakly on the floor, breathing shallowly, waiting to die.  She remembered clinging to her friends and sobbing, beginning to understand, finally, that she could _not_ change it, that the world was not hers to control.

_You knew it all along, didn't you, Nuriko?  On some level, you knew it all along._

"Nuriko," she whispered, clutching him closer.

She would have to let go in a moment, she knew, but just another few seconds . . . just another few breaths . . . 

She felt Nuriko shift slightly in her embrace and thought he was trying to break away, but he didn't pull back; instead, he leaned closer and, smoothing one slender-fingered hand through her hair, whispered into her ear:

"It was a beautiful dream . . . ne, Miaka?"

She pulled back, shocked, and searched his face for some sign of recognition--did he really remember??  And if he did, _how_??  When she opened her mouth to ask him, however, the words didn't seem to want to come.  She tried again, mouth working silently, but Tamahome had come forward to slip his arm around her shoulder, and Nuriko--who was smiling at her knowingly, his eyes bright and almost playful--was taking small, careful steps backwards towards the others.  

The others . . . 

They were fading.

Their images were growing fuzzy, fading and returning, fading and returning, and she knew with a clench of anguish that they were leaving her, now.  For good.  Fighting back tears and gripping Tamahome's hand so tightly that she was sure she was cutting off blood-flow, Miaka raised her free hand in farewell.

"Arrigato, minna," she managed.  There was _so much_ she wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to find any other words but these.  "Minna . . . minna . . . "  Her voice broke, cracking beneath the weight of the sobs in her throat.  "Arrigato!"

The air shimmered once . . . and then they were gone. 

~*~

He stared up into the whispers of clouds, the crystal of the sky--so blue.  It was like calm water, spreading out before him, so clear and smooth that he could almost catch a ghost of his reflection playing against the waves.  The blood was cooling on his skin, now, succumbing to the chill of the air and the flutters of snow that rained softly from above.  A bitter smile touched his lips, bending them upwards.  He was going to die.  

He . . . was going . . . to die.  

He sank to his knees in the snow, trying to focus on breathing, living, surviving--but he was drowning.  The blood gurgled in his lungs, oozing against his breath like honey; each new inhalation was a struggle, each new exhalation a wheeze of fading life.  

Abruptly, he remembered the boulder--only he could lift it . . . and, he was dying anyway, ne?  Wincing, clutching at his side as if trying to stem the flow of blood, Nuriko rose to his feet and staggered to the boulder.  His limbs felt weak, and although the Willow still burned like flame on his chest, although the cool steel of the gauntlets still clung to his forearms, he knew he wasn't strong enough to lift this.  Not now.  Not when half of his blood lay splattered on the snow, when he could feel the chill of the wind INSIDE of him.  Gods, it was a strange, otherworldly feeling, to know that a part of him lay open and exposed like this--to feel the cool air sweeping on his flesh and within it.

_Demo, Miaka . . . _

He stepped forward, carefully, and planted his feet in the shifting snow.  Then, drawing in as deep a breath as his flooding lungs would allow, Nuriko stretched out his arms, lifted them with some effort, and hugged the boulder tightly.

"Onegai," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut against the glare of the snow.  "Onegai.  Give me strength."  
  
He tensed his muscles, sucking in a broken, gaspy breath, and heaved upwards until it felt like his arms were ripping from their sockets--but, gods . . . gods, it wasn't enough!  It wasn't enough.    
  
_Please_, he begged silently, pulling again, harder, fueling all his life into this one last act, all his blood and sweat and love into moving this damned boulder so Miaka could get the Shinzaho and be with Tamahome forever...  _Please, Suzaku.  Please.  PLEASE!_

[You will die.]

The words were like a warm hand against his cheek, soothing and soft; a part of him trembled at actually speaking with a god, of communicating so casually with the one he had been born to serve, but urgency quickly drove away such thoughts.

_I know.  I...I know, but this is more important.  Please.  I'm going to die, anyway, ne?_

[You don't know that.  Perhaps you will cling to life just long enough for Mitsukake to arrive.  You would be healed.  You could move the boulder then.]

_I won't last that long.  I . . . I can feel it in me._

[Feel what?]

_Death.  Even Mitsukake can't battle that.  So, please.  Please.  Give me this one last strength.  Let me do this._

[If you do this, you might not get a chance to say goodbye.  This kind of strength comes from throwing all of your chi into your actions, using ALL of the life force you have to use.  That's all that's keeping you alive right now, Nuriko--the life force that belongs to every Suzaku seishi.  If you use it all, now, when you most need it, there will be no goodbyes.  There is a good chance that as the boulder falls, so will you.]

His mind twisted more deeply into anguish.  _Miaka..._

[Yes.  You may not be able to see her again.]

_But...but, if I don't do this..._

[You'll die with her face above you, her tears on your cheeks.  You will get to say goodbye.  And, whatever you may think, there's a good chance Mitsukake will arrive in time.]

_He won't._

[You sound very certain.]

_I am.  Let me move the boulder.  Onegai.  I don't think it's too much to ask, ne?  I...I probably won't get to see her again, but it'll be all right.  I need to do this, now, while I still have the strength._

There was a long pause.  And then, abruptly, a fiery breeze washed over him, setting his muscles aflame.  He could feel the power building within him, the strength returning to his limbs--his heart began to thud wildly in his chest again, strong and sturdy. 

[Very well.]  Suzaku's voice boomed within him, and Nuriko suddenly found himself consumed in darkness, a sensation of being drawn out of himself coursing over him; upon opening his eyes, he found himself flying headlong into a dark fog.   [But, first, there is something she wished to give to you.  You may not see her face again in this life, but here is a glimpse of her, in the life you haven't been allowed to remember until now.]

~*~

They arrived at the shop around noon, and to Miaka's dismay, there seemed to be nowhere to park.  

"Mouuuu," she growled, glaring at the line of cars as Nuriko slowed the yellow convertible to a crawl.  "We'll never find a place to park!  By the time we walk back, they'll be all out of dresses, I bet."

The eighteen-year-old studied her for a moment, noticing the jut of her jaw and how truly disappointed she seemed, and then made a quick decision.  Jamming the car into park, he flicked on the four-way flashers, rolled up his sleeves, and climbed out of the car.  He was still wearing the rib belt beneath his bluish-purple dress shirt and tie, but he hadn't experienced any pain for quite some time.  Mitsukake had been astonished by how quickly he rebounded from the injury, and had had no explanation for it other than, "I suppose you're just a fast healer."

Halting before a black Acura which had been stretched unfairly over two spaces, Nuriko hoped the doctor had been correct; if he was less than fully healed . . .  

_Well, no use thinking about that.  I'll find out soon enough, I guess._

Jaw clenching, he pushed the worries away and, trusting in the newfound strength that had surged into him last when he saved Suboshi from falling from that window, fitted his hands beneath the back bumper of the Acura.  Then, drawing in a deep breath and focusing all his energy on the task at hand, he heaved the bumper upwards with a groan of effort . . .

There was a quick, searing heat at his collar, and suddenly, he realized that he was lifting the back end of the car off the ground.  He felt like marveling over that for a few moments, standing there in the middle of the street--5'5, 110 pounds, lifting an Acura with his bare hands--but something told him not to press his luck.  Tossing Miaka a wry grin, he pushed the car upwards until it rested on its end, balanced on the front bumper, and leaned carefully it against a nearby lamp post.  Once satisfied that it was properly balanced, he jogged back to the convertible, shoved the gearshift into drive, and slid the car into the space he had created, just one door down from the dress shop.

Miaka grinned and hugged his arm, and they climbed out of the car together.

Their shopping trip lasted longer than they'd intended--Miaka had a lot of trouble finding a dress that didn't make her look, as she put it, "pale and icky," and Nuriko himself was mistaken for a girl so often that he finally gave up and started helping Miaka out by trying on dresses himself.  In the end, Miaka decided on one of the dresses Nuriko had modeled, a ruffled burgundy gown that matched nicely with her hair and left her shoulders bare, and once it was bought and paid for, they set off to find shoes, a necklace, and a suit for Nuriko.  By the time all this was accomplished, it was leaning into evening, and Miaka was devastatingly hungry; they stopped at a nice sit-down restaurant, where the girl downed eighteen bowls of soup as they waited for their meals.  Nuriko could only watch her, stirring his iced tea and smiling, and think on how much Kourin would have liked this silly, lovable girl if she had lived long enough to get to know her.

After dinner, they hiked back to the car, feeling full and sleepy, and started the drive home, the night wind fluttering at their hair; along the way, however, the scent of fresh, clean river salt filtered temptingly into their nostrils, and Nuriko pulled into a scenic overlook of the river.  The place was empty for a change, so he and Miaka wandered over to the edge of the water and sat down on a pile of boxes; they stayed there for almost an hour, gazing out at the river in comfortable silence.  Lights from the city glittered on the surface of the water, mingling with the reflection of the night sky, and it seemed almost as if colorful bursts of flame swam amid the stars.

Occasionally, Nuriko cast glances at Miaka, sitting there beside him with auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes large and sparkling in the starlight.  Despite their recent realizations of friendship, he couldn't help but think that she had never looked so beautiful.  

Finally, just as he was tensing his muscles to get up and stretch, something warm slid into his palm; he turned to find Miaka gazing up at him, her lips bending into a warm, sweet smile, her fingers wrapped tightly around his own.  

"Arrigato, Nuriko," she murmured.  "Today was . . . perfect."

The warmth of her hand in his, the cool, salty night breeze on his cheeks, Nuriko could only nod.  Overhead, the stars gleamed like silvery spots of sunlight, and he had a crazy thought that maybe, if he wished on them hard enough, time would stand still, and he would be able to live in this moment forever.  He would always have the warmth of his best friend's hand in his own, would always have the beautiful star-flecked river whispering by--he would always have the weary happiness of a long, perfect day weighing at his limbs, making him feel warm and heavy and sleepy.  

All too soon, however, Miaka climbed to her feet and stretched her arms high above her head.  

"Ready to go?" she asked.

He stared at her for a long moment, pondering all the possible answers--he wanted nothing more than to sit here for the rest of his life, still and warm and happy, and watch the river drift by.  But, that . . . that wasn't much of a life, was it?    
  
A slow, genuine smile crept onto his lips, and with a creak of stiff joints, he stood up.  

"I am," he said, and to his surprise, he meant it.  "I'm ready."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**"Somewhere Out There" **

by Our Lady Peace

_Last time I talked to you  
You were lonely and out of place  
You were looking down on me  
Lost out in space  
We laid underneath the stars  
Strung out and feeling brave  
I watched the red orange glow  
I watched you float away_

_Down here in the atmosphere  
Garbage and city lights  
You've gone to save your tired soul  
You've gone to save our lives  
I turned on the radio  
To find you on satellite  
I'm waiting for this sky to fall  
I'm waiting for a sign  
All we are  
Is all so far_

_You're falling back to me  
You're a star that I can see  
I know you're out there  
Somewhere out there  
You're falling out of reach  
Defying gravity  
I know you're out there  
Somewhere out there  
Hope you remember me  
When you're homesick   
and need a change  
I miss your purple hair..._

_I know you'll come back someday  
On a bed of nails I'll wait  
I'm praying that you don't burn out  
Or fade away._

_All we are  
Is all so far  
  
You're falling back to me  
You're a star that I can see  
I know you're out there  
Somewhere out there...___

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_~Owari.~_


End file.
